The spinster
by saralynfara
Summary: You're not running away from me anymore, Granger. I won't let you." Hermione Granger survived a war, but will she survive working with a very strange Draco Malfoy ? Will they end up killing each other or... Post War DM/HG
1. Spinster

Hermione Granger isn't an awkward bushy-haired teenager. Nope, not anymore. Now, Hermione Granger is a brilliant responsible worker, a woman admired for her skills and the ah... _terrific_ part she played during the last Great War, as Ron sometimes says.

Of course, she isn't perfect - nobody is, really. But it's all fine and she really doesn't mind that she doesn't have a husband. Nor a boyfriend.

When all of her school friends are married. And pregnant.

Well not Harry or Ron, but Ginny and Rose-Hannah certainly are.

Or that she heard the children from that awful little flat on the third floor calling her a spinster. Twice.

Noticing that she's gritting her teeth, she immediatly slacken her jaws : she's gotten into the nasty habit during long _lonely_ nights at work, when all the other ministry's workers go back home because they have a family to take care of. And she stays, because, well, she doesn't.

And she grits her teeth. She sadly shakes her head : if her parents knew, she would never hear the end of it. After all, they are dentists, and they love... teeth. Very much.

Much more than they love her, she sometimes thinks.

She sighs : it's not true, a lot of people love her. She knows that, but there are days when it's hard to remember it. Especially when your old slightly smelly cat left you to wander Merlin knows where for Merlin knows how long and that you spent so much time looking for it everywhere that you didn't have the time to make coffee. Actually, you tried, but then you were late and the coffee was so hot that you burnt your tongue with the first sip so you had to empty your cup in the sink - then you were feeling even worse because your tongue was hurting (still is, actually) and it was so sad to see such a good coffee (an _expensive_ good coffee) go to waste.

After all that, in an admittedly rotten mood, she went to work the muggle way, thinking that it would relax her.

And these rude little buggers had the nerve to call her a... a spinster. She is only twenty-three, for Merlin's sake ! It is not old !

Is it ?

But she decided to act like the sensible adult she is and not to say anything. She just walked faster and consoled herself thinking: 'Well, it can't go much worse, now'.

Guess what : it did.

She went in the elevator, like every other day, sure that the worst was behind her and just when the doors were closing, he _had_ to come in.

Draco Malfoy.

Of course : you can't have a real nightmare without him in it.

So she keeps her eyes on the little numbers on the side of the doors and pretends that she doesn't notice he's here. That she isn't awfully embarrassed to be trapped alone in an elevator with her childhood nemesis.

The fifth number lights on. She works on the thirty-sixth floor and he knows it. Because he does too.

Merlin, can't this blasted elevator go any slower?

"Granger", he says, suddenly.

But maybe it's not sudden, because she can't remember for how long they have been into the too small moving box. She jumps all the same and even if she can't see him, she knows he's smirking.

She really wants to knock all of his teeth out of his mouth. What her parents don't know can't hurt them and it's a _special_ case because Malfoy is a git and doesn't deserve to be so good-looking (he is, she gives him that, but it doesn't change anything).

"Malfoy", she says (or hisses, really).

Darn, she's gritting her teeth. Again. And it's all his fault. But she doesn't say anything. Of course, now the war is over : they don't hate each other anymore.

Ah ! As if !

That insufferable little sneak is exactly the same he had been all those years ago, when he was parading with his new shiny expensive toys and green tie. Except now he is strutting around with his leather briefcase, black suit and sleek hair.

And well, now they aren't children. He made it really clear when he began to date all these women - the stupid geese never shut up about how _great_ and _sexy_ he is. He hasn't got a wife, nor a girlfriend, but he isn't a spinster, of course not : he is a bachelor.

Somehow, that sounds a hell lot better.

He _is_ exactly the same, she thinks quite viciously. The annoying whiny Malfoy brat ! But nobody seems to care anymore, not even _Harry_.

But she does, and Merlin, every time she sees those grey eyes, all she wants to do is put her hands around the neck of their owner and...

"Looking good today, Granger."

And squeez...

Wait, what ?

The elevator stops and there is a clean-sounding tinkling. Malfoy gives her a cheerful wave before stepping out, leaving her gaping after him.

"See you later, Granger", he purrs before disappearing behind the closing doors.

She blinks.

'Well, maybe not _exactly_ the same', she thinks.

The doors are closed again: she missed her stop. And she doesn't care.

Ah ! Take that, _spinster_ !

* * *

A/N : well, I am not english, that much is obvious, I think. And this is the first time I write something in english, ever. But I did my best anyway so thank you for reading and sorry for my probably atrocious grammar...


	2. Fridays

A/N : When I wrote the first chapter I intended to make a one-shot, but some reviewers (thanks a lot to all of them, by the way - they were really nice :) suggested that I make a long story of it. I kinda liked the idea and I had a very boring lesson this afternoon. So well, there it is...

Did I say how grateful I am that you reviewed ?

**Fridays**

Hermione Granger hates fridays.

She loathes them with a passion. She never told anyone, though because she _knows_ that if she did, they would all look at her with that sickening pitying look.

And whisper behind her back afterwards pretending to be sorry for her.

Fridays she can live with, but not the looks and whispers, because she loathes them even more than weekends. And that's saying something.

So she lies and acts as if she's happy to come back to an empty flat with no better prospects than vacuuming cat's hair and washing the dishes she left into the sink yesterday and the day before, she thinks, (but she's not sure about that : she seems to remember that she collapsed somewhere in the middle of whatever she was doing at the time) because she was just to damn tired to take care of it.

The muggle way, so she won't be done to fast.

For two whole days.

And a half, if you count friday night.

Ugh, just thinking about it makes it almost frightening. But no, she hides the fact that she's so bloody relieved when it's Monday again and she doesn't have to sit on her couch, bored to the point that she can't muster enough energy to stand up and go to Harry's.

Anyway, it's awfully depressing to visit people who actually enjoy their weekend when you don't.

She puts her coat on and sighes, loudly.

"Weekend, at last !"

Hermione jumps and whirls around to find a cheerful Harriet throwing all the papers on her desk into a big plastic bag.

"I just can't wait, says Harriet with a sheepish smile when Hermione raises an eyebrow.

- Yeah, neither do I, answers Hermione, hoping her tone isn't as dull as she thinks it is.

- You're finished, aren't you ? You can go home and enjoy your friday night, says Susan, clearly jealous. I still have that huge stack of paper to classify : I won't get out of here for hours."

Hermione stops herself to clap her hands in excitement and she knows it's pathetic, but she really can't help it.

"I have nothing special to do tonight - if you want, I could... take care of it for you ?"

Merlin, she hopes that she didn't sound too eager. It would be weird, wouldn't it, that she'd rather spend her friday doing paperwork than go home ?

Does the fact that she already took her coat off make her obvious ?

"Really ? You would do that ?"

Susan is looking at her with hopefull eyes and Hermione nods slowly, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Yeah, I mean : we work together, we have to stick together no matter what, don't we ?"

Somehow, Hermione doesn't believe that Susan would give up ten minutes of her precious weekend for her - but it doesn't matter at the moment. After all, Hermione is probably the more grateful of the two.

"Oh, I love you, I love you, I love you !"

Susan is almost jumping up and down and Hermione thinks that it _does_ look a bit ridiculous to do that when you're forty-three.

But she can't say anything : a few minutes ago, she was ready to beg for paperwork.

"Thanks a ton, I owe you one", says Susan before grabbing her belongings and leaving shouting a loud "Bye ! Have a nice weekend" at regular interval.

Hermione groans : she really doesn't need to be reminded.

XXX

The paperwork took one hour and forty-five minutes. By then, she was practically alone. One by one, they all took their leave, stopping by the office she was sharing with Susan and Harriet to inform her of all the wonderful things they were going to do during the two following days and to ask her what were her plans.

Ah, as if her "plans" ever went farther than "eating" and "sleeping" !

It was like some kind of conspiracy and she almost blew up. Almost.

She stayed vague, of course. Hinting to some hobby or other. Not really lying, she tells herself.

And well, it's not like they could ever find out - they never call her, let alone come to see her.

She takes her bag, the one Ginny finds ugly, and leaves after a last look to the office. She really doesn't want to go home, but when she sees the doors of the elevator closing in front of her, she runs. Another nasty habit, she thinks.

A _very_ nasty habit, she inwardly wails once she's inside.

"Granger."

She swallows a sigh - perfect, just what her friday needed.

"Malfoy", she mumbles.

She faces the wall and begins to recite her multiplication tables like she does when she's feeling uneasy.

No need to say that she knows them _very _well.

"So, ready to enjoy your weekend ?" he asks, out of nowhere.

She stops breathing and then snarls in a matter of seconds. He _knows _! That... that bastard is rubbing salt on the wound on purpose. That thought is all it take for her to snap.

"No, I am not bloody enjoying it ! What is it with you all with fridays and weekends ? I _hate_ fridays : I spend them waiting for Monday to come. There, I admit it : happy, now ?" she growls.

She's breathing hard and he looks so taken aback that suddenly she's not so sure that he really intended to be mean. Ah, the idea is preposterous, but she'd swear the expression on his face is one that she's never seen there before.

But she has no time to ponder on it : she can feel her face getting hot and she really, really wants to crawl in a hole and die - a very deep hole far away from London. Yep, that's the one.

She huffs and turns her back to him, before frantically pushing the first number her hand meets.

The doors open and she hurriedly steps out, not caring that it's the tenth floor and that now she'll have to take the stairs if she wants to salvage the remnants of her dignity.

"I hate them too", she hears behind her back.

She turns around but the doors are already closing and... is he laughing ?

That jerk, he's laughing at her !

She's never talking to him again. Never.

* * *

A/N : there, hope it was all understandable. I think I'll continue this - I have fun toying with poor Hermione.


	3. Hiding

A/N : I would like to make a "real" long story of this, because, well, I have a thing for the poor spinster and now I feel obligated to get her out of the hole I put her in.

Weird, I know...

Hm, getting to the point : as I said in the first chapter, I am french, so my english is certainly lacking and if someone out there was kind enough to sacrifice her(him)self... Well, a beta would really help, I think.

So if you feel like being a kind soul, just let me know. And if not, I'll do my best with my poor grammar and you'll have to bear with me until the end (wow, that sounded a lot less ominous in my head).

And now, on with the story.

* * *

**Hiding**

It's monday again and Hermione is hiding. For the third time. In two hours.

It's not her fault, really, that Malfoy is haunting _her_ half of the thirty-sixth floor all the time. Yes it's "her half" : it's an unspoken rule, but she knows he is aware of it.

But noooo, the git just has to wander where she needs to be exactly when she needs to be there. And on the first day of the great operation "Ignoring Draco-I-am-so-funny-Malfoy" too.

She _hates_ him.

And now, she's crouching down behind boxes of office supplies into the dark, dusty storeroom instead of working on the urgent case she was entrusted with.

Well, it was the closest door when he appeared at the end of the corridor - it's not like she had a choice : he could have_ seen_ her and she isn't sure that she will be able to keep her cool if he talks to her again.

She just can't stand the way he acts all friendly when really he is trying to distract her before going for the kill.

And nobody believes her, with that charming white fake smile of his. Harriet even pretends that he was trying to ask her out next week, when he came into her office for no reason whatsoever and began to gloat about that great restaurant he went to last month. As if he didn't know that Hermione couldn't say anything on the subject. The last time she ate something that wasn't a squashed sandwich outside of her flat was at the Burrow. For Christmas.

Today is the fourth of May, for Merlin's sake !

Harriet is so naive, sometimes. And she had the nerve to tell her that the way she threw Malfoy out of her office was "a bit cruel".

Cruel ? When Malfoy had practically been laughing to her face ?

Hermione quietly snorts and regrets it when she almost chokes on the dust which thickens the air. She presses her nose until it hurts, trying hard not to sneeze and inwardly scowling.

"Hey, you ! Have you seen Granger ?" she hears a voice ask on the other side of the door.

She winces and curls into a tight ball until her knees are jamming up into her chin. Painfully, may she add.

Bloody Malfoy. Can't he just let her be ? Hogwarts and the war were a long time ago, and even if it's _most unfortunate_ that they have chosen to work in the same department that couldn't be helped.

So the best course of action is of course to ignore each other until they are nothing more than two people working on the same floor. It's possible, Hermione is sure of it and it would already be a reality if Malfoy wasn't such a stupid, childish...

Hermione stiffles a startled cry as the door opens suddently and the light invades the room. She knows that it's silly but she shuts her eyes and waits, hoping against hope that nobody will spot her.

Merlin, what wouldn't she give to have the invisible cloak with her, right now.

"Granger ?"

Hermione half opens one eye, praying for this whole disaster to be one of those nightmares she sometimes has.

Because Malfoy is standing in front of her, looking at her in obvious disbelief. He blinks before a slow smirk tugs at his mouth.

"Granger... What are you doing on the floor ?"

Hermione stubornly raises her chin, determined to hold on what's left of her dignity with her nails and teeth.

"T-that's really none of your business !" she hears helself spat.

She can't suppress a grimace - well, so much for dignity.

He is still watching her as if she's some weird little child and she feels the telltale heat rising up to her head as the panic invades her.

"Why are you looking for me anyway ? she asks, wondering whether it wouldn't be a better idea just to go out of the room in silence now that she's ignoring him.

Sweet Vivian, she _is_ acting like a little child ! What is it about Malfoy that always brings out the worst in her ?

"Actually, you see...

- No." Hermione raises a hand to shut him up. "I don't want to hear it. I... I am not talking to you : the time has come for you to grow up and to stop with this petty feud. We are not in school anymore and you can't continue to try and belittle me in hope that I will resign. You and I are working together. I don't like it either but it's not going to change anytime soon so you have to deal with it."

There. She said it.

Feeling very satisfied with herself, Hermione leaves the room and goes back to her office. Now, that wasn't a pleasant speech to make but somebody has to finally be the bigger person to put an end to this madness.

To be completely honest, the gobsmacked look on his face wasn't exactly unpleasant. Oh, who is she kidding : she loved it - his slack jaw, his widened grey eyes and the way his _so perfect_ lips were wordlessly moving.

Ah ! Who is smirking now ?

"Hey, Granger !"

She grits her teeth. Again. She has to give him that : the little bugger is persistent. She walks faster and storms in her office, slamming the door behind her.

"Oh, Hermione ? What are you doing here ? I thought the boss wanted to see you before taking a portkey for Cincinatti or something, says Susan, frowning.

- What ? Are you sure ?

- Didn't Malfoy tell you ? He was looking for you all over the place : he said the boss would be gone by ten o'clock."

Hermione slowly turns her arm to look at her watch in trepidation. Nine forty-five.

She's so screwed.

She runs out of the room to collide into a hard chest. Somehow, she doesn't have to look up to know exactly who it is. She shoves him away and rushes towards the elevator, frantically pressing the "call elevator" button.

"I see you finally got my message, after all", he taunts.

But she stays calm and pretends that she can't hear him. She _is _the bigger person, after all, and even if it's _completely_ Malfoy's fault that M. Peterson is going to bite her head off, she is above such things as hexing a collegue in a corridor just because he's being a prat.

At least, as long as nobody ever learns that she spent almost an hour hiding from him in the storeroom.

* * *

A/N : I am not exactly sure where I am going with this. I have some ideas, but well... we'll see, I guess (and if you've got ideas of your own that you feel like sharing, go ahead ! I would appreciate it).

Anyway, a big "thank you" for reading and a double one with whatever you want on top for the reviewers : you are the reason why I am sitting behind my computer at... ugh... 3:23 am...

I'm going to bed, now.


	4. The file from hell

A/N : There's the new chapter. Thanks a lot to : BloomingSparrow (good luck with your studies : I know that French is awfully difficult to learn - confusing grammar, isn't it ?) ; Friendorfoesnape ; jen ; Nangini (there, I used your idea - hope it turned out OK :) and FlamingRose11 for the boost of motivation.

* * *

**The file from hell**

"What? You must be joking!"

Mr Peterson watches her, unblinking. It's not possible : what has she ever done to deserve such a fate?

"I don't see the problem here, Granger. You and Malfoy are both outstanding employees and I'm sure you'll handle this file just fine..."

"That would be true if it was anybody _except_ Malfoy", she mumbles.

Peterson lifts an eyebrow, looking thoroughly nonplussed by the whole ordeal.

"What?"

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, ready to scream herself raw if she has to in order to avoid the disaster, to explain to him that putting her with Malfoy in an office is like... to go on a cruise on the Titanic. But then, he has this big hopeful smile and she remembers that Peterson is actually a really nice boss. And that he is easily stressed out.

Very easily.

That's it, she's doomed : she can't say "no" - she just don't know how. It was already like that when Harry and Ron were copying her homeworks during their years at Hogwarts. She _knew_ it was unfair and wrong and she wanted to say "no", but she could never pull it off.

Yep, a nice lonely doormat, that's Hermione for you.

"Nothing", she says with a smile of her own which she suspects looks a lot like a wince of pain.

"Ah, wonderful! It's an important file - a very, very important project : at least a month of work."

A month with Malfoy. Merlin, she wants to cry.

"I knew it! I _did_ kill kittens in my previous life, probably hundred of them. And I made them suffer. A lot", she says under her breath.

"What?"

Peterson looks confused again.

"Nothing..."

She needs ice cream. Now.

With chocolate sauce. And sprinkles.

XXX

"You're eating ice cream."

"Yeah."

"And you're not working."

"... Yeah."

Harriet opens and closes her mouth wordlessly.

"What's wrong? Oh Merlin, did someone die?"

Hermione swallows her mouthful of vanilla ice cream and watchs darkly the content of her bowl before viciously stiring it.

"I'm working with Malfoy. For a month - thirty _long_ days, she explains.

- Really ? says Susan. You are so...

- If you say that I'm lucky, I'll have to hex your tongue off to feed it to sharks", she warns in a low voice.

She stabs moodily at the remnant of her half-melted ice cream, splattering her neat desk in the process.

"Oh yes, Mr Peterson. No problem, Mr Peterson. I'll spend a month alone in a room with Malfoy and I'm sure we'll have a swell time, she says in a high-piched voice.

- Already fantasizing about our alone-time, Granger?" asks a voice behind her.

Hermione feels her back go stiff and grips her spoon tighter.

_Ignore him, ignore him, don't say anything..._

_You're stronger than that : you killed Death Eaters, you can do this._

Darn, less than a minute in his vicinity and she already wants to hex him so badly that her hands are shaking from the restraint. She doesn't think that she'll be able to stand it during thirty days. Nope, not possible.

Surely, she could plead temporary insanity...

"Granger? Have you gone deaf? I knew all those years spent with the Potter Wonder couldn't have been good for you - too much applauses, no doubt."

Is... is it his hand on her shoulder ?

_Splash!_

"Oi! What the fuck?"

Hermione can't keep the smug expression of her face as Malfoy wipes the vanilla-chocolate goo off of his eyes before untucking his wand from his leather belt.

For a second, she thinks that he's going to hex her and automatically summons a shield to protect herself. Malfoy pauses and blinks stupidly at the faint shimmering in the air betraying the non-verbal "protego".

His eyes flicker towards her and suddenly, he doesn't seem mad anymore. He casually waves his wand to vanish the mess dripping on his grey suit before putting it away. Hermione notices for the first time that his wand is a nice reddish color and finds herself wanting to know what kind of wood it's made of as well as what's inside of it.

But it's not as if she could ask : he would find a way to make fun of her and he's got a knack for taking things the wrong way.

"I'm not twelve anymore, Granger : I am not going to attack you", he says with mild irritation.

But she can tell that despite his words, he is amused and it makes her want to throw the contents of her bowl at him all over again.

Except that now, it's empty.

And she's feeling quite disgrunted that she didn't get to eat all of the ice cream.

"So, now that you expressed your... aggressiveness, can we set to work?"

Hermione glowers at him but he seems completely unfazed by it. And Susan is practically swooning behind him, the traitorous wench...

She can't handle it. Not today, when she woke up too late to wash her hair or to do her make-up so her head feels itchy and she knows that she looks like a child in front of him, with his classy suit and shiny hair.

No, she needs to be efficient Miss Granger to fight him, not little-mudblood-what's-her-name-again? he used to bully whenever he felt like it.

She needs more ice cream. And maybe to see someone who will let her rant about the ferret for an hour or two.

"Well?" asks Malfoy.

Susan and Harriet are pretending to work but Hermione knows that they are listening eagerly and it makes her sick, all of a sudden. So she doesn't answer. To add insult to injury, she just remembered that now they _all _like Draco-I-enjoy-ruining-your-life-Malfoy. And what good does it make to complain to someone who will tell her that "he isn't so bad" or that she ought to "give him a chance".

Well then, Crookshanks it is.

To give Malfoy a chance... Ah, no way! They are going to work together_ once_, to talk about the case, because they _have to_, but then they will work on their own.

As far as possible from one another.

She wonders if their temporary office is bigger than this one and if Peterson would mind terribly if she was putting an illegal engorgement charm on it.

After all, it's an emergency. Sort of.

"Granger?"

The jerk is now waving a hand in front of her face as if she was some kind of retarded three years old.

"What?" she snaps.

"I thought I've lost you for a second, he says with a smirk. Can we go in ouroffice, _now_?"

"Tomorrow."

"Huh?"

"I have.... things that I need to sort out before we begin, so..."

"Tomorrow it is", he says, smiling pleasantly.

She nods her head, glad and a little wary - because, really, it was almost too easy. But he leaves her office without so much as a complaint and it's in a better mood that she follows him outside five minutes later to buy a cup of hot cacao.

Maybe it will all work out : they probably won't be seeing each other all that much anyway.

She smiles to herself as she crosses the corridor. Until a hand shots out from nowhere and suddenly, there is a hot breath against her ear.

She squeaks and tries to turn around but the hand is gripping her tightly.

"Malfoy?" she asks in what she hopes is a calm voice.

There is nothing but silence and beating heart, until :

"You're not running away from me anymore, Granger. I won't let you."

And when he releases her, she stands still. She listens to his footsteps on the thick blue carpet, taking deep breaths and staring blankly at the wall in front of her.

Her hands are shaking again, but it's quite different now.

Because for the first time since the end of the war, Hermione Granger is scared.

* * *

A/N : Hm, I tried to turn this whole thing into a real long story (it's true : with a plot and everything:) so... I hope that it was OK. Tell me what you thought about it.

Pretty please with ice cream on top ?


	5. Sick days

A/N : well, this should be "betaed" soon (that's not a verb, is it? XD), but it's still complicated and I don't know when I'll have the chance to post this during the week, so there it is...

* * *

**Sick days**

Today is not going to be a good day.

Hermione just woke up, but she already can tell : the sky is too blue - cruel and unusual cheerfulness, she says between her teeth -, the birds are stupidly chirping (which kept her up since the sun rose, by the way), and...

Ugh, who is she kidding ? She wasn't even asleep in the first place! Her head throbs, her stomach aches and jerks weirdly as if she was in a landing aeroplane or something, and every inch of her hurts because she spent hours twisting and turning in her bed last night.

She thinks she pulled a muscle. Seriously.

Of course, she looks awful too : there are ugly dark bags under her red eyes, her hair never seemed so closely related to a rat's nest and...

She tries to take a closer look at the disaster and ends bumping her nose against the mirror.

Is her skin _yellow_?

It is, isn't it? It's not just the light...

Let's face it : she looks like a bad attempt at transfiguration on a very frizzy angora albino rabbit.

Then it hits her : she's ill. And if she's ill, then she can't go to work. She never called a sick day before and it's strangely appealing right now. After all, it's not like someone will die if she doesn't turn up for once.

Satisfied, she grabs a handfull of Floo Powder and throws it in the fireplace before going on all fours and sticking her head into it.

"Mr Peterson!" she calls, immediatly spotting him - well, his legs since he stands just in front of her and she has a great view of his knees.

His feet shift and he crouches down, letting out a loud huffing noise as he did so.

"Miss Granger? Is everything alright?"

"Actually, no, she answers in her most feeble and pathetic voice. You see, I'm ill. So... I'm going to stay at home for today."

There, she said it. And Merlin, sick days are amazing : she feels better already.

"Ill? exclaims M. Peterson, looking appalled. What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, I'm not really sure." She carelessly waves her hand and bangs it against the hearth in the process. "Just, you know, feeling under the weather and whatnot", she explains, shaking her hand and wincing slightly.

M. Peterson's eyes narrow suspiciously.

"You're not faking it, are you?"

"Faking?" Hermione feels herself flush from outrage. "What do you mean "faking"? I haven't missed a single day of work in two years!"

"Well, yeah. That's the thing. I mean, you're never sick and today, on your _first _day with Malfoy... You're not trying to weasel your way out of this file, are you?"

"Of course not!"

Hermione falters slightly but shakes her head with all her might. It's true that she's not thrilled to work with the sneaky - and if she's honest with herself even a little scary- bastard, but she's feeling unwell. It's not as if she can help it!

"Why would I?"

"You weren't exactly ecstatic to be his partner now, were you?"

Well that's the understatement of the century. She tries very hard not to snort.

"No! I mean, yes. Malfoy is a conscientious worker and I'm very... _glad _to be partnered with him ", she spits.

She wonders if washing one's mouth with soap is as terrible as Ron swears it is because hers certainly feels like it needs it. Merlin, even the words taste disgusting.

Very glad indeed.

"I'm so_ thrilled_ you feel that way, Granger" drawls an awfully familiar voice behind Peterson.

Oh Merlin's beard, she didn't! She didn't make a fool of herself in front of him. Again.

"Hello, Granger. So... ill are we?"

Peter moves aside, revealing grey slacks. She's going to kill Peterson - how could he make her say these degrading things about Malfoy when the git was there? It was an indirect praise, for Vivian's sake!

"Malfoy." Hermione nods curtly.

She watches him crouch gracefully and her stomach lurches with a vengeance.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she says hopefully, wondering why it sounds so much like a question.

Peterson chews his lips, obviously unsure.

"If you think that you really need the rest, I guess..."

"Well, you don't look so bad, Granger, says Malfoy. And we only have a month - that's not much."

"So, what do you suggest? That I come here and puke on your italian shoes?" snaps Hermione.

Peterson suddenly seems a little green, probably thinking about the expensive carpet which covers the floor because the decorator thought it would look classy. Sure, you can always scourgify the mess, but Hermione knows from past experience that the carpet would never be the same again.

Besides, scourgify does nothing for the smell. Really.

But Malfoy is still smiling serenely, as if his lips had been freezed turned upwards. And it chills her to the bone.

"About that, I might have a solution. You know that I would never want to cause you any form of discomfort", he says, his smile widening.

She hates when he does that : he looks like he knows something she doesn't and for some reason, it makes her very, very nervous.

"Yes?" she says in a bored tone, hoping that she doesn't sound scared.

Because she isn't. So what if he was an ex-Death Eater and that no one knew exactly how many people he killed during the war?

"I'll go to your place, that way you won't have to go out and strain yourself."

She feels her mouth hang ungracefully open and resists the urge to rub her ears - because... she heard him wrong, didn't she?

"You want to come here. In my flat", she slowly says.

"Yeah. Why not? It will be easier for you and we can get some work done."

Peterson beams at him and for an horrifying second, Hermione thinks he's going to weep in relief.

Poor Peterson lives in the illusion that Malfoy is a nice thoughtful man. They all do. But Hermione knows what he's trying to do, faking concern to corner her on her own. Probably planning to kill her messily and blame it on the flu. Or something.

There's no way she's going to let him set one foot in her flat.

"No, she protests with an award-winning smile. I don't want to bother you."

"Oh, it doesn't bother me at all, he says. My pleasure - really."

_Go to hell!_

"You know what, I think I can manage for a few hours : I'm coming", she simpers between her clenched teeth.

It almost sounds enthousiastic and she's quite proud of herself until he chuckles without any reason at all.

"Really? Never thought I'd have that much of an effect or I'd have suggested that years ago."

He lifts an eyebrow.

"Yes, she absent-mindedly answers. I'll be there in ten minutes."

She pulls out of the fireplace and stands up when it hits her.

Did Malfoy just made some kind of sick innuendo?

She shudders. No, it's completly impossible.

_It's all in your head, Hermione. You're sick and delusional._

_Really, it's fine : you've gone mental is all._

She firmly nods and hurriedly get dressed just in case Malfoy isn't a patient man. Because she doesn't know how he is like - after all, she never really talked to him before.

She can feel the stomach ache returning full force and she apparates in front of the company's building without having breakfast. The elevator seems to take forever but at the same time, she can't help but think that she's on the thirty-sixth floor too soon.

He's already here, waiting for her with his unnerving smile and ambiguous grey eyes.

"You know, I meant it about my weak stomach." And she looks pointedly at the shiny leather of his polished shoes.

He shrugs with practiced ease.

"I think I'm going to chance it."

He leads her through long dull corridors to a door she never opened before. She sends a last glare his way before pushing past him and entering her new office.

Well, _their _new office, actually.

"Maybe you should try it too. Sometimes."

She pretends not to understand what he's referring to and don't say anything, thinking that the less they argue, the less she'll have to talk to him.

He closes the door behind them and then they're alone.

She keeps her hands under her crossed arms, hoping the shaking will stop before he notices it. She stares at the wall and swears to herself that she'll keep her wand within her reach at all times. She'll never let him near her food either. Or any of her things, for that matter.

She never takes chances - that's how she survived a war. And she has every intention to survive that partnership too, even if she has to keep Malfoy under Petrificus Totalicus during four weeks.

* * *

A/N : well, that was quite short, and kind of a filler, I think. I promise there will be more Draco/Hermione next time...


	6. Poison and coffee

A/N : Sorry for the wait - I really had trouble writing this between classes and everything. But I'm in holidays, now - yay!

Oh, and by the way : Happy Christmas!!!

(wonder if anybody other than me read fanfictions instead of doing "christmas' things", but well... there is no snow where I live:)

* * *

**Poison and coffee**

"...tense."

Hermione starts and cringes as she lifts the eyes she was keeping carefully trained on the scroll spread in front of her to avoid looking at Malfoy. Malfoy whose face is looming right next to her own.

Great.

She gives him a disgrunted look, hoping he will take the hint, for once, and go away on his own. No such luck. They've been working together for three days. And he's been glued to her like a bloody leech. Half of the time, she could feel his body heat better than the heater's, for Merlin's sake!

Had it been anyone else, she would have thought they needed comfort, blaming it on a loveless childhood or something.

But it's Malfoy and the motives behind his actions aren't so hard to guess : he's trying to annoy her. Probably hopes that she'll drop dead, boiled in her own scorching repressed anger.

Yep, she thinks, doing her best not to bow her head before his steely gaze, just trying to annoy the hell out of me.

And God, does it work.

"What?" She means to snap, but it comes out as an unnerved whisper.

She's probably more tired than she thought. And with all the hot anger keeping her tossing and turning in her bed hours after Malfoy is out of her sight, it's not really a surprise.

She scowls.

Malfoy adverts his gaze, pulling on the sleave of his shirt with the shadow of a smile on his lips.

A smug smile, may she add.

Against her will, Hermione stares at his arm. She can't help thinking about the black mark marring the pale skin underneath the fabric. It's still here, she knows, and sometimes, she wonders... She unconsciously shudders and Malfoy watches her intently, as if trying to read her mind.

"You look tense", he says again.

Hermione gives him a tight-lipped smile.

"Do I?"

"Yeah and... Oh, I know."

He smiles and Hermione shoots him a wary glance.

"You need coffee", he says, very confidently.

"Wha..."

He lifts a finger in the air, looking quite ridiculous doing so.

"Just a second."

Hermione tenses as he waves his wand, conjuring a steamy black cup.

"Here." He puts the cup on her desk with a pleased expression.

Is he... being nice?

Hermione shudders at the thought and anxiously peers at the content of the cup. Malfoy chuckles low in his throat and the sound makes her bristle like an angry cat. She doesn't understand how he can act so casual, pretending he's not a Malfoy, his family hasn't perished during a gruesome war or he's never gone back home soaked with blood that wasn't his. She can't understand how they _all_ seem to have forgotten who did what during these months of pure hell when she struggles everyday not to recognise the people she once called "enemies" in the street.

And now he's just too close and she doesn't know what he's trying to do. Offering her coffee? What for? Ah! As if she was going to drink something coming from him!

She would never admit it aloud, but she sometimes wish he would call her a mudblood and sneer at her like he did when they were in school. That way, she could hurl his bloody coffee in his face and not feel guilty about it - it would be that simple.

But, anyway, the man had always been sneaky.

She clears her throat, trying to figure out a way to "forget" her coffee until it's cold and undrinkable - everyone knows that reheated coffee just isn't the same.

"Hm... Thanks", she says without an ounce of sincerity.

"You're welcome."

She quickly bends over the open file in front of her, faking concentration - wondering if he'd notice if she'd pour the content of the cup into the potted fern sitting on the window ledge.

She sneaks a glance at him and catches him looking at her with an odd expression on his face (Resentful? Hateful? Murderous? She can't quite place it). He just smirks and goes back to work.

Well, the potted fern is out, then.

Nonetheless, she feels inexplicably pleased that he feels the need to keep an eye on her. Somehow, she thinks she'll live her paranoia better now that she knows it's not one-sided.

Ugh, that sounded incredibly wrong even in her mind.

"I didn't poison it, you know."

"What?"

Hermione turns around, forgetting to ignore Malfoy like she promised herself she would. But, to her credit, he was making it awfully difficult to manage.

"Your coffee. You're not drinking it", he says, matter-of-factly. He gives her a taunting smile and she digs her nails into the palm of her hand, doing her best to remain calm.

She is Hermione Granger, she is composed and logical. And she will not scream at him like a madwoman just because he's being a smug bastard and enjoys playing with her nerves a lot more than he should. Nope.

Because it would make her childish and possibly tarnish her reputation. No matter what she says, she is quite fond of the know-it-all "too clever for her own good" label she gained with years of hard work and she isn't going to let _Malfoy _ruin it all.

"Oh, I forgot about it. It must be cold now", she says, unapologetic.

Malfoy brightens at this and stands up. Hermione fights the need to stand up too and back away as he casually saunters to her.

"It doesn't seem cold to me", he comments, holding the cup in his hands before putting it back on the desk.

"It is", she snaps, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I don't think so."

She swallows a growl and stands up. Merlin, he is _tall_.

She shakes her head - now is not the time to notice how the top of her head barely reaches his chin.

How the hell did that even happen? He was all scrawny and midget-y, when he was eleven and she can't seem to remember how tall his father was.

"Dark Arts, she suddenly blurts out. You used one of those illegal potions."

He combs his hair with his fingers, because even when he's frustrated, Draco Malfoy is just that neat : he doesn't ruffle his hair, he _combs_ them.

"We both know I did, but what the fuck does it have to do with anything?"

His voice is cold and Hermione realises it's the first time since they are nice and proper adults that she sees him that close from being angry.

She likes it. A lot. And she chooses not to think about why.

"You're too tall, she explains, gesturing to make her point across. You're not supposed to be_ that_ tall."

His demeanor changes faster than you could tell "simpleton" and she's suddenly aware that she's making a fool of herself. Again. It's like she's allergic to him or something : being in his vicinity is doing dreadful things to her brain.

She wonders if Mr Peterson would let her switch partner with Rosalie if she told him about it.

"You're a weird one, Granger. Really weird." Malfoy pats her head as if she was some kind of silly pet and she recoils, scowling. "There, drink your coffee."

He thrusts the cup in her hands and it almost spills all over her work.

"No."

"It's not cold yet, Granger", he insists.

"Doesn't matter, she mutters. I'm not thirsty."

He chuckles and goes back to his desk. Hermione glares at the cup and lets it cool hidden behind the enormous stapler Ron gave her last Christmas because he knows she still likes to do some things the muggle way.

After that day, Hermione finds a scalding coffee on her desk every morning. Malfoy acts as if he doesn't even notice the cup and after three days, Hermione gets tired of wasting good coffee and begins to drink it.

Every morning.

* * *

A/N : hope you like it. Give into the Christmas' spirit and review! (besides, to leave a review will make you a good person, and good persons always have a lot of presents - it's true!^^)


	7. Traitors

A/N : hope you all had smashing holidays. So sad it's over but well... there is always fanfiction XD

Happy New Year, by the way... (late, I know)

* * *

**Traitors**

Hermione stumbles out of the Potters' fireplace, almost tripping on her high heels. She winces as she regains her balance and twists her ankle. But she doesn't cry out, and she doesn't plan on complaining. Nope. There, she even puts a smile on her face to go with the make-up, pretty golden hairclips and the reasonably expensive dress (Hermione likes to point out that even when she's on a shopping spree, she is nothing if not reasonable).

Because, tonight, she's having diner with her old friends, namely the Potters and the Weasleys, and she won't be the old ugly bitter spinster. It doesn't matter that she's just spent the day trying to avoid Malfoy, running out of their office under false pretenses for no other reason than to evade his presence.

It was nothing anyway, just her being stupid : there is no way he was staring like she felt he was. She is being paranoid again, she knows - you can't hope to go through a war without some nasty... after-effects.

Why would he be staring at her?

So, no, tonight she has to act as if she still loves her job. She won't even talk about Malfoy. Somehow, she's aware that her job is all she has : if she doesn't have it, then she's "Poor Hermione".

She _hates_ "Poor Hermione".

So, there she is, precariously balanced on much too high heels when she hates high heels almost as much as pity, constricted in a dress which is too fancy for the occasion, and hell, she's sodding _freezing_ with that ridiculous plunging neckline! As if that wasn't enough, she spent hours brushing, combing, and twisting her hair to make it look half-decent.

No need to say that she's late, and she swears that if one strand dares to pull out of the sleek bun, she will burst into tears. She's not kidding : just the thought makes her bottom lip quiver.

She dusts her dress, hoping she doesn't have soot all over her face. Darn, she knew, she should have brought a pocket mirror - it would be just her luck to ruin it all with soot after putting so much energy into being vain. The living room is empty, and she suddenly realises that she can hear the sound of voices and cutlery coming from the dining room.

That late, uh?

She winces. Well, at least it explains why nobody heard her come in. Either that or she made them wait for so long they decided not to greet her as some kind of punishment.

She chuckles nervously to herself and is surprised to discover that she feels quite self-conscious about the way she looks. It's completely preposterous, she firmly tells herself. She's known them for almost twelve years. Well, not Rose-Hannah, but who cares about Rose-Hannah ? Either way, the woman's six months pregnant : she could hardly criticize her sense of fashion. When she's feeling down, Hermione loves to look at maternity dresses - the ones with the big _purple_ flowers on it. It never fails to bring back a smile on her face, even if it's a wicked one.

And no, it has nothing to do with being jealous.

"Ginny?" she calls, quietly.

There is no answer. She bits her lip and creeps towards the dining room, feeling a little awkward to be late and all dressed-up.

Ah, damn it all! She spent an embarrassing amount of time in front of her mirror - so what? She can lie, it's not like they will know better!

She makes her entrance, looking straight at Harry - who chokes on a mouthfull of chicken at her unexpected appearance.

"Hi, sorry I'm late, she exclaims brightly. You know me : got caught up in work - the usual. I just can't seem to leave the office, these days."

She throws a laugh for good mesure. Perfect, nobody will suspect a thing.

Ah! Like she goes to work with 300£ shoes and gold earrings.

"Funny, that. I seem to remember you going home early, today."

She freezes. No, it can't be - they wouldn't have! Nobody is _that_ cruel!

But there he is, all smart looking with a casual white shirt and perfect sleek hair he probably achieved in about thirty seconds.

Traitors, all of them.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

She stiffly nods at him and greets Ginny, Rose-Hannah and Ron.

Oh.

Harry and Ginny, Ron and Rose-Hannah. Herself and Malfoy? No, Ginny wouldn't have dared. Would she?

No, she chastises herself - she's being silly again. Of course, Harry and Ginny wouldn't do that to her. And with Malfoy of all people!

They may be traitors and really _awful_ people to have invited him with her, but they wouldn't have thought about it like some kind of triple date. Not even them were that blind - it's not like they don't know Malfoy would never go out with a poor boring muggleborn like her.

Not that she would go for someone like him, mind you.

And she's completely one-hundred-per-cent sure it's purely coincidental if the only seat available is beside his. So she sits down keeping her mouth shut. After all, she isn't about to make a scene in front of her friends. She'll be damned if she let Poor Hermione make an appearance tonight!

She fills her plate with chicken, peas, and mash patatoes, keeping herself from immediately stuffing her face like a pig. It's late, and she's so hungry, she feels like she could eat a small elephant, but it really wouldn't go with her attire.

And maybe she's being paranoid again, but it really feels like Malfoy is watching her while smirking. Again.

"Oh, Hermione, I love your dress!" Rose-Hannah gushes.

"Yes, Granger... Very nice dress, adds Malfoy. Going somewhere after dinner?"

She almost spits out her peas and has to struggle to keep her eyes on her plate. He may be a jerk, but she won't give him the satisfaction to know that he hit the bull's eye : she _is_ overdressed, and she feels like it too. But she loves this dress, and she never has the occasion to wear it - because she's alone and not rich like him. Hell, he can go anywhere he wants and people actually invite him.

Her_ friends_ invited him!

She looks sideways at Malfoy who is exchanging pleasantries with Harry as if they've been all-time best buddies. She returns to her plate, taking bite after bite and chewing mechanically without really tasting anything. Which is a shame, because it looks good.

She never thought she would come to this, but she misses seing Harry and Malfoy throwing hexes and belittling comments at each other. Of course, Malfoy still does the belittling part, but now, they actually find it_ funny_.

She shudders. It's all like a horrible nightmare and she wishes she could wake up.

Anytime, now.

She sights and rubs her temples before emptying her glass of wine in one go. Harry raises an eyebrow at her but doesn't comment.

Dinner drags itself, minute after minute. Hermione talks little and none at all when it's Malfoy speaking to her. She feels uncomfortable in the too pretty dress she's trying hard not to stain, and Malfoy is a lot too close to her - she somehow has the impression that his Cologne is swallowing the oxygen or something.

For the first time, she doesn't feel like she belongs here - it's like Malfoy has replaced her without anybody noticing.

All of a sudden, she's not hungry anymore.

"Why so silent?"

She doesn't answer, pretending she can't hear him. He tried talking to her all evening, probably to rub in her face how much of a loser she is - not even able to have a conversation with her own friends! -, but she knows he'll get tired of it if she goes on ignoring him.

Eventually.

"Granger?"

He nudges her as if she was auditively impaired. Merlin, how thick could he be?

She maims her chicken with a vengeance.

_See no evil, hear no evil, speak_...

"For Merlin's sake, Granger! Aren't you going to answer me?"

He suddenly sounds annoyed. She almost grins, but settles for a tiny quirk of the mouth and turns his way, keeping her face carefully blank.

"Why? So you can make a fool out of me", she says, her voice lowered - she doesn't fancy this particular conversation being overheard. "Thanks, I think I'll pass."

But it's too late : Malfoy outburst has definitively gained them some attention. When she shifts her gaze from his face, she finds four pairs of eyes focused on her, watching her as if she was the weird one. Well, it's not her who insists to talk to Malfoy like she doesn't know they aren't friends.

Sure, she's not as wary of him as she once was, she can admit that, albeit grudgingly. After all, his coffee is good, and not exactly poisonous (so yes, maybe she went a little overboard with the whole poison-thing, but hey, you can never be cautious enough, especially with Draco Malfoy). But it doesn't mean they have to organize sleepovers at each other flat or to... talk. Do they?

They are still watching her, and Ginny has this expression on her face... like she knows something Hermione doesn't.

God, Hermione_ hates_ not to know what's going on.

She forcefully pulls up the corners of her mouth, hoping it can be mistaken for a smile and turns back towards Malfoy.

"OK, fine. What do you want to talk about?"

He perks up and gives her that Cheshire Cat's smile which makes her want to run for her life and to strangle him all at once.

She refills her glass of wine, already eyeing the bottle of beer Ron is steadily emptying.

She has a feeling she's going to need all the alcohol she can get to make it through the evening.

* * *

A/N : How Hermione will survive an entire diner with Malfoy (and how pissed will she be at the end of it)? You'll know that... next chapter. Which will hopefully be up before too long. Leaving reviews will significantly speed the process. And now, I'll stop blabbing nonsense : I hear the sweet (?) voice of The Doctor coming from the living room. XD


	8. One drink too many

**A/N :** so, your reviews made me post this chapter earlier (the guilt... awful thing...). So, I didn't really proof-read it - I hope there aren't too many mistakes...

* * *

**One drink too many**

"I really don't get it. What are you trying to do?"

Ginny turns around, looking startled. Hermione decides that she doesn't care and enters the kitchen : Ginny might be very pregnant, she's also very annoying and she deserves to be startled, scared and maybe even yelled at if the room agrees to stop swaying.

It's not fair, that everything becomes suddenly fuzzy just when she's finally ready to let all her frustration out.

Because keeping things in isn't good for you, she read it in Cosmo or some other magazine - she can't really remember which one.

"What are you talking about?" Ginny says.

And Hermione thinks that she's a bad liar too, because she knows exactly what's the matter. She decides to spell it out for her anyway: she doesn't feel like waiting anymore.

"Malfoy", she answers, as if it explains everything. And in a way, it does.

"What?"

"Why did you invite Malfoy?"

"He's a friend. Am I not allowed to invite friends anymore?"

"I'm not stupid, Ginny."

Hermione empties her glass and unconsciously looks around for something to refill it with. No such luck - is liquid soap all there is in that kitchen?

"No, concedes Ginny. But you're drunk."

"Maybe. Still, I can recognize an ambush when I see one - I've been a soldier once, you know."

"What do you mean? It's just a dinner between good friends. Well, for the most of us", she amended.

"Oh, cut the crap, Ginny - the innocent look thingy isn't going to fool me. I mean, you and Harry, Ron and Rose-Hannah making goo-goo eyes at each other over your huge bellies, and then _me and Malfoy_?"

Hermione herself realizes how drunk she must be to have uttered such a suicidal comment and not care about the consequences. Ginny doesn't take allusions to her newly acquired weight very well. Actually, it tends to make her quite homicidal.

Ginny grits her teeth and Hermione still has enough instinct of self-preservation to shut up about what a nasty habit it is.

"I don't have a huge belly, I'm..."

"Pregnant. Yeah, I know : that's all you, Ron and Harry talk about anymore."

Merlin, doesn't she sound bitter! She winces and pretends to scrutinize the silver bunny pepperpot. She squints a little: who the hell bought that?

"I'm going to let it slide this once, Ginny mutters. Just because you're drunk and kind of pathetic. I mean, are you so lonely than you need to hate Malfoy like a hobby of sort?"

"Hey, he hates me too!"

"No, he doesn't. Actually, tonight's diner was his idea."

Hermione's head snaps up. He knew. Now it all makes sense, the way he seemed so amused when she left work early this afternoon and all the strange comments about seing each other more often. Hermione inwardly curses herself for not understanding earlier. Does that mean that on top of everything she's becoming stupid?

Maybe Malfoy really _did_ poisoned her coffee with an silliness draught or something. Somehow, she can't really bring herself to believe it: Malfoy is a smug bastard, but even him wouldn't sink that low.

"And you listened to him? she asks. So what, if he asked you to stab me with a screwdriver, you'd do it?"

"A screwwhat?"

"Nevermind. The point is: it's Malfoy, we're talking about - he _hates_ me!"

Ginny couldn't have forgotten that - you couldn't erase years of hexes and insults just because all of a sudden you were working in the same office.

"He doesn't, Ginny says again. I even think he..."

"He hexed my teeth!" Hermione cuts her off, indignant.

How could she have forgotten the teeth! So, OK, she was kind of glad afterwards - she wouldn't have the nice straight teeth she has now if it wasn't for that hex. But it was awfully embarrassing and mean at the time.

Hermione nods to herself.

"For Merlin's sake, this was years ago. You were what... thirteen?" asks Ginny.

Hermione doesn't like Ginny's obvious incredulity, as if she was sprouting nonsense or something. Which she's not: after all, she has a very good memory, everybody says so.

Ron asserts that's why she's still single, but she doesn't want to think about _that_ right now: knowing Harry and Ginny trust Malfoy more than her is already enough to make her unsteady on her high heels.

Or maybe that's the wine and beer mixing in her stomach. Actually, she doesn't feel so good, now that she thinks about it.

"Fourteen. And that's not the point."

"Well, you punched him in the face."

"I was twelve!"

Ginny puts the dish she was washing into the sink and rubs her temples.

"Look. This is stupid. You and Malfoy should be best friends : you're both intelligent people, even if I have my doubts about someone right now." She looks pointedly at Hermione, who thinks it's quite uncalled for : she's not _that_ drunk, thank you very much! "You work in the same department and you both like to read."

"He does? No, don't answer : it doesn't change anything. He's probably the new Dark Lord or whatever anyway."

"What?"

"He acts weird. He keeps looking at me funny, as if he's wondering how my head would fit on the wall of his sitting room. Sometimes, he really gives me the creeps", she admits, quietly.

Hermione doesn't know what kind of answer she expected to that, but it certainly was not Ginny bursting out laughing.

Hermione huffs and narrows her eyes.

"That's not funny. I'm telling you Malfoy is planning to kill me. You'll be sorry you've made fun of me when you'll have to write my funeral oration. Something like : "Hermione was so smart she even predicted her own death, but _nobody_ listened to her and now we're all... very sorry. Really... not funny at all."

Hermione frowns. Merlin, all the alcohol is finally beginning to kick in and making sentences is becoming increasingly difficult.

"Why in the name of Merlin's wand would Draco want to kill you?" asks Ginny, still giggling.

"Because he hates me, and I'm a..."

What's the word again?

"A muggleborn", says a voice behind her.

Hermione gets an awful feeling of déjà vu. Why the hell is the man always _behind_ her? It's as if he's doing it on purpose to try and catch her saying embarrassing things about him.

Hermione finds it worrisome that it always seem to work so well.

"So, I hear you have uncovered my evil plot to get rid of you and steal your stash of romance novels", Malfoy says in a bored voice.

Hermione is so stunned that it takes her a full minute to realize that Ginny is laughing again.

_How... how does he know?_

She never brought them to work, did she?

She turns around and stumbles slightly, intending to go back into the dinner room. Malfoy watches her, looking deeply amused, and takes a step aside to give her room.

"Hermione..." calls Ginny behind her.

Hermione waves a hand without looking at her - she would topple over for sure.

"Don't mind me. I think I need to... drink some more."

After that, everything is a bit of a blur. Hermione remembers filling and emptying her glass and Merlin, she should have done that_ years_ ago. She feels warm and all... buzz-y and Malfoy can go to hell for all she cares.

It's nice.

And then someone chuckles and there are arms around her waist. She doesn't remember closing her eyes, but she must have.

That or she's blind and never noticed. The thought makes her laugh and there's a deep laugh - not her own - close to her ear again.

"You... sure?"

She thinks it was Ginny and she wants to speak. To tell her her Firewhiskey is nice and that she's not pleased with Malfoy being Ginny new best friend - he's a boy ('no, a _man_', she thinks) and men are not good with baby talks and everything. But she's just too tired to bother.

People are talking and she doesn't really get it until a voice says :

"I'll do it."

Then, it feels like she's moving, which is strange because her brain certainly isn't telling her legs to do that, and it's amazing how the voice in her ear is sounding like Malfoy.

Somehow, it doesn't matter to her at the time. It's almost... soothing. The tiny somewhat sober part of her begins to realize she really did have one drink too many.

* * *

A/N : so, is Malfoy going to kill her in her drunken stupor? You'll know that... hopefully soon enough. XD

Thanks for reading - be even nicer and review, I heard it helps to pass your first semester's exams.


	9. Dreams

**Dreams**

Hermione is feeling rather wobbly and... woozy. There is a dull ache in her head and her stomach is squirming like it's trying to get rid of something unpleasant.

"Nnnnng", she moans, shifting to find a more comfortable position.

"Finally awake, I see. Thank Merlin, I thought I'd have to carry you all the way to your bedroom - you don't look like it, but you're no light weight, I'm telling you."

Hermione frowns, trying to process what's going on. She feels... _weird_, like she's been run over by a bus and hastily patched up afterwards.

She hopes her face was out of the way when it happened.

"Granger?"

She makes a sound and she knows it doesn't mean anything, but she's too sleepy and ill to make an effort to be even remotely intelligible.

Hugh, she feels like she's going to throw up.

"Granger? Granger? Hey, stop being stubborn and help me a little."

She knows this voice it's... ah... it's on the tip of her tongue, but she can't seem to put her finger on it. It's deep and pleasant enough, but...

"Granger? Hermione, shit! Stop it, it's freaking me out: talk or stop moving, you're looking like a fucking inferius."

Malfoy?

All of a sudden, it's very clear and awareness jolts in Hermione's body. She tries really hard to open her eyes, and they hurt like hell - she thinks maybe somebody rubbed sand on them, but not even _Malfoy_ hates her that much. There's light in her face, and she suddenly needs to empty her stomach. Right now. She stops trying to see (who cares about seeing anyway?) and lurches forward.

"Herm... Oh, shit - not again!"

Somebody holds her hair back as she heaves and an arm snakes around her middle to keep her from collapsing. She wants to tell the idiot that he's pressing on her stomach, which is _not_ a good thing, but she doesn't think she can safely open her mouth just yet.

She hears a sigh, very near her ear, as she dry heaves, and the hand in her hair rubs soothing circles on her skull.

"I _liked _those shoes, you know. They were expensive and it took me months to find waterproof muggle shoes." A snort. "Muggles are useless shoes makers. I mean, what good are pretty shoes if your feet are cold and wet inside? And nobody looks at your feet anymore when your nose is red and runny. Well, not as if you'd ever notice my shoes in the first place."

Silence. Hermione tries to get her breath back and makes a blind attempt to wipe the tears off of her face. A hand beats her to it.

"Ugh, and, no offense, but it stinks something awful. _Scourgify_. Sorry, but I think you'll have to replace that. I have quite a few carpets myself - nice carpets, mind you - but I don't think it would go with your flat. Well, if you can call that a flat, I mean..."

Hermione stops trying to understand as another spasm shakes her to the core.

"Ew. How could you even put so much alcohol in that midget's body? There has to be some kind of law against that. Are you done?"

Hermione lets out a moan and grips the arm holding her, wanting nothing more than to lay down and black out. Somewhere in a dark corner of her mind, a little voice tells her that there will be hell to pay in the morning for her wine/beer/Firewhisky cocktail.

"I'll take that as a "yes". _Scourgify_. There, let's put you to bed. Hermione. I can call you Hermione, can't I? I mean, you're not even really conscious: you won't remember anything ." A chuckle Hermione definitely doesn't like: for some reason, it sounds like somebody laughing at_ her_. "You're going to be quite a sight tomorrow - I can't wait to see you at work."

Step. Another step. A stumble, followed by a mewl and curses. A bright, bright light which burns and makes her head pounds. She whimpers and squirms in protest.

"OK, OK, I'm turning it off. Where's your bedroom, now?"

Doors opening and closing. Too loud. Hermione jerks a little.

"Ow, stop moving you stupid girl! You are lucky you're so funny or I would have dumped you in the stairs. Scratch that : _in front_ of the stairs. Honestly, who puts anti-apparition wards on their flat nowadays. You know, I'm going to make fun of you for _weeks_ after tonight. Oh yeah, you'll never hear the end of it."

A door creaks open. Hermione thinks this is the strangest dream she ever had - Malfoy, putting her drunken self to bed, talking nonsense about, well... nothing sensible, really.

A comfortable mattress. Her shoes vanishing and a soft quilt.

"There. Hope you're happy : my back is killing me. Stupid silly girl."

Hermione wants to protest: Malfoy has no right to insult her, even in her sleep. Ugh, why is she dreaming of him anyway? Not that he's doing anything more than brushing her hair out of her face but...

Wait, what?

Godric, this is so embarrassing! She'll think about it tomorrow when she'll see him, for sure. Oh yeah, and she'll probably say something stupid, like usual. She can totally see it right now : "Hey, Malfoy! Guess what? You were in my dream, last night and you were talking about carpets. And shoes. While strocking my hair."

Ew. Her stomach feels queasy again and she scrunches her face.

"Goway, she moans weakly. Cantreamboutyou."

The hand in her hair stands still.

"Her... Granger? Are you awake?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but she's too sleepy. So she just yawns and snuggles deeper in her bed. After all, it's not real: why would she care about dream-Malfoy, when the real one is already there_ all the time_ ?

A snort.

"Even in your sleep, you make no sense at all. Here. Your keys are on the bedside table. Good night"

A silence. So very long she thinks she's fallen asleep. Can someone dream about falling asleep? Then, would that person dream in her dream, or...

"Your dress was very, very nice, Granger. And..."

Another pause, and she wants to slap him when he talks again: honestly, what does a girl have to do to have some peace?

"Nobody will kill you ever. I promise."

Then, Malfoy is gone and it's just warm and cosy with the slightest hint of a headache.

A very strange dream indeed.

* * *

A/N : I know it's quite short, but it didn't fit with what was before, and putting the following scene in it would have made it too long so... Well... exams finally ended so I'll try and update soon. Please review *puppy dog eyes*...


	10. Hangovers and blueberry muffins

**Hangovers and blueberry muffins**

Hermione stirs. There's a horrible, awful, ugly, mean sound somewhere near her head. She blindly reaches out to put a stop to it.

Then, she suddenly remembers it's her alarm clock. Which means she has to get up. She opens her eyes.

"Ow!"

She presses her hands against her forehead before chucking the alarm bugger on the floor. The crash makes her wince and she buries her face under the covers. Moaning, she tries to gather her thoughts.

So, okay, she drank last night. To that point, everything is perfectly clear: there was Ginny and Harry, Rose-Hannah and Ron, Malfoy and... the Firewhiskey and friends. And, yeah... well, she drank. A lot. And now, she has the hangover from hell.

And she really should get up. Because she has to go to work.

She'll never drink again. Never. Not even grape juice.

She sits up slowly, painfully aware of every nerves in her body, before grabbing her wand on the beside table and summoning water and hangover potion. Something fells on the floor with a clang as she does so, but she can't be bothered to lean over and see what it was.

The bottle of water soon comes and nearly collides with her head. That's when she remembers she actually doesn't own any hangover potion.

Of course, she doesn't! Why would she? She never drunk her head off before! And if it wasn't for Malfoy...

Suddenly, she feels like she's forgetting something. She scrunches her face and instinctively knows she won't like whatever it was when she'll remember it.

"Damn it all", she mutters.

She crawls out of her bed and stumbles in the bathroom to take some muggle headache pills. She looks up in the mirror. God, she looks like death warmed over. She just can't go to work like this.

And no, it doesn't matter that Malfoy will be the only one to see her. It has nothing to do with him anyway.

Malfoy.

She freezes in the middle of her shower.

Malfoy. The dream. Oh Merlin, this is so incredibly embarrassing.

She hurriedly gets ready, realizing she's already late. She avoids the mirror, knowing she's still looking like a dead flobberworm and she can't do a thing about it. That's when she trips on something.

Her keys.

Her keys which fell from her bedside table. Where _Malfoy_ put them in her dream.

A cold dread washes over her. She struggles to stay calm. The "dream" is nothing more than a strange blur of shoes' talk and throwing up.

"Deep breaths, Hermione. Take deep breaths. Everything is okay. Fine. Peachy. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a coincidence."

She nods to herself before running to the fireplace.

The living room / office / dining room's carpet is smelling so bad she's almost sick again when she kneels on it clutching the pot of Floo Powder.

She throws a handfull of powder in the hearth.

"Potter's residence!"

She sticks her head in the green light, overlooking the dizziness and bellows :

"Ginny! Giiiiinny!"

She winces. Her throat is sore, probably from all the throwing up she'd done the night before, and her head is still throbbing dully.

"Hermione? With all you drank last night, I thought you'd be in bed for at least twelve more hours", says Ginny, entering the Potter's living room.

"Well, some of us actually have to work", snaps Hermione.

She knows it was the bad thing to say before Ginny even opens her mouth.

"Sorry, sorry, she cuts her before she could begin to snap back. I just want to know... I was pretty drunk last night and..."

Ginny snorts.

"That's the understatement of the century: you were as pissed as a quidditch supporter during the Quidditch Cup."

"Well... That's not the point, Hermione argues, blushing. You... you didn't hand me over to Malfoy, did you?"

No, she wouldn't have. No friend of her would do something like that.

"Don't be so bloody dramatic, Hermione", Ginny scoffs.

"Does... does that mean you _did_?" asks Hermione, horrified.

"I hardly "handed you over"", Ginny answers, miming quote marks with her fingers. "You were clinging to him like a leech."

"Wh-what? I certainly was _not_!"

Ginny lifts her eyebrows and smiles smugly. Hermione hates that so many people seem to do that these days. As if they were all on some sort of big joke she's the only one not to get.

It's incredibly irritating.

"Do you remember it?"

"Well, no... I mean, I have some flashes, but I was unconscious for the better part of it, wasn't I?" she asks, a little worried, now.

"Yes, says Ginny. Half passed-out _and_ clinging to Malfoy like he was your long-lost half."

Hermione splutters, feeling awkward, sick and somewhat really _frightened_ by the whole thing. The Malfoy from yesterday's night wasn't making any sense - he didn't act like Malfoy at all, actually. And from what Ginny was telling her, neither did she.

"Okay. I... I have to go to work, now. I'm late already", she finally stammers.

She gets out of the fireplace without waiting for a goodbye and finds herself once again in her little smelly office / living / dining room.

She departs for work, feeling officially screwed-up.

***

She enters her office (_their_ office, Malfoy likes to correct her), already clutching her head in pain and squinting her eyes against the evil light. The office is quiet and somebody dimmed the light - for a second, she thinks Malfoy is not there and she almost thanks Merlin in relief.

But a voice startles her before she has the time to do so.

"There's hangover potion on your desk."

She doesn't even question it. She just takes the vial and empties it as soon as humanly possible: with the state of her poor mushed brain, she probably would have drunk it even coming from Voldemort.

She closes her eyes as an icy soothing sensation travels behind her eyes, bringing instant relief. She opens them again and something on her desk catches her attention. There is her daily coffee, of course, and she has to keep herself from smiling at the sight. Well, it's from Malfoy and there's probably some evil hidden motive behind it all, but she has to admit it's the first time somebody is doing something for her with so much... constancy.

And... is that a blueberry muffin?

He brought her breakfast?

She doesn't understand it, and she can't help but think that maybe that's the most frightening aspect of the whole thing. She's not used to not understand things: she's the know-it-all, for Godric sake! She looks up informations in books, she checks facts and her brilliant mind makes up for the rest. But right now, she's at loss. Why would Malfoy be so nice to her? Is that some kind of weird way to express his guilt for the part he played in the early war?

She doesn't get it, and as the time passes, she's not even sure she wants to.

"I thought maybe you'd be hungry, with all the "stomach emptying" you've done last night", he says again.

She doesn't turn around, not sure she knows how to handle the bizarre situation.

She wants to tell him she won't eat anything coming from him, because, who knows what he could have done with it? She wants to tell him off about last night and to find things to accuse him of, like taking compromising pictures for future blackmail (he could have done that, she probably would have, in his situation, but she doesn't remember anything camera-related, and his arms seemed a little too full with her spewing body at the time to take photographs), or trying to rape her. But, let's get real: Malfoy could have anybody, so...

Well, except for her, of course.

"How did you _know_ I like blueberry muffins?" she blurts out.

He doesn't answer, and she finally looks his way. He's staring intently at his quill and seems strangely embarrassed.

If it was anyone else, Hermione would have find it quite endearing. She settles for raising an eyebrow and biting into the muffin. Which is really good, by the way. If he was a girl, she would have asked for his recipe, but as it is, he probably bought it in the bakery across the street.

Malfoy glances at her and shrugs.

"Just a hunch. We should try and see what we came up with about the case. Do you think you can overlook your... revulsion for an hour and come at my desk to work with me?"

There's something strange in his gaze, and it tugs at her memory. She can't remember what it's all about, but it's enough for her to shut up and nod.

She finishes her muffin and sips her coffee while skimming through his notes.

She tries to work and shut up but less than half an hour later, she can't take it anymore: she just has to ask. Anyway, she has stared at him for too long and he's already looking at her quizzically.

"Where did you buy that muffin, Malfoy?" she asks, feeling stupider than she ever felt in her life, which is quite a feat in itself considering how she acted around him during the past few weeks.

"It's Draco, now."

"What?"

"You ate my muffin, and I cleaned up your vomit. I think we ought to be on a first name basis, don't we?"

Hermione thinks it makes sense, in a strange twisted way. She reluctantly nods, because she can't find a single reason why not.

Malfoy seems pleased.

"Wait, "_my_ muffin"?" She scoffs. "Don't tell me you made it."

It's so ludicrous she laughs out loud. Malfoy smiles serenely and crosses his arms.

"I'll have you know I quite enjoy cooking."

"You do?"

He shakes his head.

"There's so much you don't know, Hermione."

She thinks she should be offended by that, but she isn't. And her name sounds strange on his lips, but not bad. They get back to work, and she realizes it's true: she really doesn't know him at all.

Her partnership with Malfoy ends twelve days from now and she wonders if she'll missed it, somehow - the coffee, the paranoia and all the confusion.

But maybe that's just Firewhiskey talking. Because... they are just working together, right?

* * *

A/N : There. I worked like a slave (a_ slave_, I'm telling you!) to post this quickly despite the conspiracy of school, homework and everything evil. So, be a nice reader and review - tell me if I made any mistakes (which I probably did, considering the length of this chapter) and give me the strength to write another one instead of doing my homework.

*Cough* thanks to everyone for reading anyway ^^


	11. Rumours

**Rumours**

"Oh, no. Draco is not here: he's gone out for lunch - probably has a date with an idiotic busty blond or something", Hermione mutters sullenly.

Susan blinks and shuffles a little the stack of papers in her arms.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing", Hermione huffs. What does Susan want with Draco anyway? "I just hope he'll be back before sunset: this case is urgent, you know. We don't have nearly enough time to go... _gallivanting_ outside everytime it strikes our fancy!"

That's a bit unfair, she knows. Draco is here everytime he's needed, and he does more than his part of the job.

Susan is looking at her weirdly. Hermione shifts, suddenly uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"Draco?" Susan repeats.

Hermione wills herself not to blush and decides there are times when to play safe means to play dumb, as humiliating as it can be.

"What about him?"

"You never called him Draco before. It was "that git", "that stupid bastard", "the ferret". "Malfoy" on your good days", she adds like an afterthought.

"So? We're working together, now", answers Hermione in her best grown-up voice. "And apparently, you can't go on calling by his surname a guy you puked on."

That's what she tells herself all the time, and she really tries not to dwell on how easily the name tumbles from her lips. But Susan isn't listening to her at all anyway, and a sly smile dawns on her lips. Hermione can't help but find it slightly creepy.

"So... how is he?"

Hermione frowns in confusion. She doesn't like where this conversation is going.

"Wha..."

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows you and Draco are..." She makes a vague motion with her hand.

"He... Me... We... Everyone?" Hermione splutters.

"Well, yeah. I mean, you haven't exactly been discreet about it: you hated him, in a very _obvious_ kind of way, and now you're looking at him like he's some kind of god - which he is, if the rumors are true." She wiggles her eyebrows and Hermione feels quite sick in the stomach. "You are even calling him Draco."

Hermione feels her face grow hot. And it's go nothing to do with that weird dream of Draco Malfoy kissing her forehead with a disturbing gentleness.

"Everyone?" she squeaks again. "And I do not. We _don't_!"

"Don't be such a prude, Hermione. It's selfish not to share: is it true that he..."

"Hello, Susan. Looking for me?"

Hermione turns around. For the first time of her life, she's positively ecstatic to see Draco Malfoy coming her way.

"Draco", she exclaims with enthusiasm. "How was your date?"

"My date?" he repeats, blankly.

This is _not_ good. She was counting on it to prove Susan wrong, but if he refuses to admit it, then that good-for-nothing blond is useless.

Or maybe he was just out for lunch, like he said he was. You never know... The idea is strangely pleasing. Probably because, it wouldn't be fair that he got to go on a date in a nice restaurant when she was eating tepid soup all alone.

"Yeah, you know. Your date, with your _girlfriend_", she says, hoping he'll take the hint.

And just to make sure, because he could be lying. But at that point, it would be stupid of him: who cares if he's got a girlfriend anyway?

His eyebrows shot up and he smirks. He's finally catching on. Hermione suppresses a sight of relief.

"Oh, no, he says. Who told you that? You know I would never cheat on you! I'm so sorry I got you worried, hun."

Hermione's jaw drop and she can't think of a single thing to say. Susan is wearing an unflattering triomphant expression.

Hun? What the hell?

"What was it you wanted, Susan?" he continues, smiling pleasantly at Susan.

The later asks a pointless, obviously just made up question and mouthes something threatening to Hermione which looks suspiciously like: "We'll talk about it later." Hermione waits till the nosy hag is gone before looking at Malfoy.

"What was that for?"

Draco shrugges, visibly unconcerned.

"It was funny. Did you see her face?"

"It was not. Are you insane? Now, they'll think you and I are..."

"Dating?"

"Screwing! And now, there will be knowing glances and embarrassing questions all the time. Because of you, I'll have to take the stairs not to be cornered by giggling women in the elevator!"

Draco chuckles.

"It's really not that bad. Besides, you should get used to the rumours: after tomorrow, there will be plenty of those."

"There will?"

"Yes. By the way, we are having dinner at seven."

"We are?"

Hermione is so confused, she doesn't even think about protesting. She absent-mindedly muses that she sounds like a broken record and can't help but be quite irritated at herself.

"Yeah. With the dead-line so soon, I thought it would be best to make some extra hours. While eating - I'm not doing extra hours without food. I'll pick you up at 6:45. Dress formal."

"Oh, okay."

A work-related date. Of course. She tries to quell the twinge of annoyance in her stomach and turns her back to him, pretending to sort some papers.

She doesn't see him smile.

***

Another black dress makes its way on top of the growing heap on Hermione's bedroom floor.

Salazar's robes! She had no idea she owned that much clothes. Or black dresses, for that matter.

"Dress formal", she whines. "Dress formal! What the hell does that mean?"

She holds a purple satin dress. Nope, definitively too formal: she refuses to look _that_ desperate, especially after the whole fiasco at Ginny's.

A blouse and a skirt?

She holds them in front of her and grimaces at her reflection.

That's a "no", she looks like an overeager schoolgirl. And she's not a schoolgirl. Even less an overeager one.

She thinks about flooing Ginny for the tenth time since she woke up: she actually stopped herself, a handful of floo powder in hand just twenty minutes ago. But no, it would be too embarrassing. And she still has to talk to her after the horrifying night she spent getting drunk, sprouting nonsense in front of her friends. Besides, Ginny might read too much into this. She would probably think this is some kind of romantic date or something. Which it's not.

Surely, she would never hear the end of it, and she doesn't think she can stomach another questionning about Draco Malfoy's "skills".

She makes a face.

She begins to be cold, standing there in her underwears. Not to mention it's 6:12 already and she's going to be late if she keeps stalling.

She finally grabs one of the black dresses, not even looking at it, and puts it on. She avoids her reflection, afraid that seeing herself will give her second thoughts. She doesn't dare do her make-up or her hair with too much care. She doesn't want Draco to think she believes it's a real date. Besides, you don't need to groom yourself for hours before meeting co-workers-bordering-on-almost-friends, do you?

Draco arrives just on time, which is sadly not a surprise. He's perfect, but with him, you never know when he took extra-care with his appearance or when he is just his usual classier-than-you self.

And he's holding daisies. Daisies!

"What is it?" he asks, watching her staring dumbly at the bunch of flowers.

"You brought me.... flowers?"

She knows her face is displaying her shock openly, but she can't bring herself to do something about it - her facial muscles aren't responding anyway.

"Yeah... Why, you've never gone out with a decent guy before? To bring flowers to the girl you're taking out is customary, you know?"

"But, we aren't going out!" she protests with exasperation.

"We aren't? I am making you _go out_ of your flat to have dinner with me. It sounds an awful lot like a date to me", he says, lifting an eyebrow, as if daring her to contradict him.

"That's not what I meant at all, and you know it! We are not going out, as in "going out"!"

"I know, he says, smiling. But it doesn't mean I have to be rude about it."

She can't answer anything to that, so she lets him into her flat. She doesn't really like to bring anyone in here, but she figures he already saw it, even if she doubts he payed much attention to his surrounding the first time. After all, he was stumbling under her weight, half-asphyxiated by her Firewhiskey-and-sick breath. She cringes at the thought as she leads him to the kitchen. She finds an old dusty vase her mother probably bought her. She realizes she never used it before, which tells a lot about her dating-life, and she almost wants to cry when he gives her the flowers.

But she doesn't. Honestly, she would look like a psycho, crying because someone is giving her _daisies_.

"Thanks", she says, quietly.

"You're welcome. Are you ready to go?"

She nods and puts her coat on.

He watches her and, for a second, she thinks he's going to say something, but then he just smiles again and holds out his hand to her.

"We're apparating", he says.

She nods and clasps his hand in hers. And as her flat becomes a dark little street, she thinks that work or not, this whole thing looks more like a real date than any rendez-vous she's ever had before.

Somehow, the idea isn't as nauseating as it should be.

* * *

A/N: I still have a lot of work to do, but I had awesome reviews for the last chapter, so I'm shirking again ^^'. I know my chapters aren't all that long, but it would take me longer still to update if they were, so...

Anyway, thanks a lot to my very nice reviewers (and to you, if you're reading this, you can't be a bad person XD).

Make my day (Week? Month?) and review !


	12. Dates

**Dates (kind of)**

"Is it alright with you, Hermione?"

Hermione blinks rapidly. Draco and the waiter, whose name-tag reads "Henry", are looking at her with matching expectant stares, as if she's supposed to know something.

Well, she doesn't.

"Er... Yes?"

The waiter seems relieved and he leads them to a corner of the very full room. Hermione suddenly understands that "Henry" was probably enquiring about the location of their table. He helps her to sit down, and she almost snorts at the gesture.

She usually doesn't have the money or the occasion to eat in places like this one and everything seems odd - awkward and fake : nobody helped her to sit down since she was a two-year-old girl with ribbons in her hair and a plastic knife. But she doesn't want to embarrass herself_ again_, so she just sits down without making a fuss and mumbles a "thanks" to Henry.

She sees Draco hiding a smile behind the menu, having probably noticed her discomfort. In a way, his amusement doesn't annoy her half as much as the fact that it _doesn't _annoy her.

It doesn't make any sense, she thinks. But she finds him almost endearing, talking with the waiter, looking serious enough to put the Minister of Magic to shame, while stopping his lips from twitching.

The fact that he's laughing at her doesn't even cross her mind.

The waiter leaves and Hermione throws a paranoid look all around the room before hiding behind her menu, pretending to concentrate hard on it. This restaurant makes her feel underdressed, out of place and well... _poor_, for lack of a better term.

They don't talk at all, except when the waiter comes back to take their order. That's when Hermione realises that she just spent twelve minutes staring at the menu without_ reading _it. Panicking, she looks at the first dish of the list and asks for a fillet of duck with a "mousseline" of something or other she hopes is not Jerusalem artichoke or something equally disgusting.

For some reason, she feels like Draco knows she chose at random. Actually, she sometimes feels like he _always_ knows what's going on inside her head. It's quite unsettling, really. Especially since most of the time, she has _no idea_ about what he's thinking.

He orders and the waiter goes on his merry way. Not that he looks joyful or anything, all stiff in his crisp uniform and standing so straight he always seems to be looking for a faraway boat over the top of the patrons' head.

"So... What do you think about it?" Draco asks, face carefully neutral.

"About what?" she answers, blinking.

"This place. Is it to your liking?"

She can't help but snorts - that kind of question is not Draco's style. More like Dobby's. Draco doesn't say anything, waiting for her answer.

"Yeah. I guess", she grudgingly admits.

He nods.

She stares at the empty plate set in front of her. A soft soothing music is playing in the background, blending with the clatter of cutlery and polite laughs.

She's going to throw up. Any minute now.

She wonders if it's some kind of physical reaction to Draco's presence, because it seems to happen awfully often when he is in the vicinity. Must be that allergy again - _Malfoyllergic_. At least, that would explain the weak stomach, the heating of her face and the stupidity which takes hold of her brain whenever she has to talk to him. Yes, she thinks, a perfectly logical explanation for a perfectly normal er... _issue_.

She refrains from banging her head on the table. Who is she kidding? It's stupider still than everything she came up with until now, and that's saying something.

She can feel him looking at her. More like staring really. She chances a quick glance in his direction before looking back at her plate. Her nice clean white empty plate.

They stay there, sitting across from each other, until their food arrives, almost fifteen minutes later. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. It's absolute murder. It's so embarrassing Hermione wants to hara-kiri herself in a dark corner of the room.

Draco doesn't seem bothered in the slightest - like sitting in a lively restaurant in complete silence, watching your "work-related-date" staring at her plate was something he was doing on a daily basis. He just keeps staring at her, his mouth turned up in a half-smile she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't known his face so well.

Not that she ever really looked at him. But, working with someone you've known for twelve years for almost a month... you couldn't help but pick some things up.

Hermione warmly thanks the waiter, relieved to have something to occupy herself. Eating in silence, that she can do.

But, they are here to work, aren't they? Is Draco waiting for her to bring it up? She bits her lips and dips a piece of duck into the blackberry sauce.

She clears her throat and looks up. Draco sets his fork down and eyes her expectantly.

"So... Jeremy Miller", she says, weakly. "I thought maybe we ought to attack on..."

Draco waves his hand in a careless fashion.

"Yeah, I saw that - I read your notes. I completely agree: it's the only way."

"What?" Hermione blinks stupidly. "But I thought... what _are_ we going to talk about if you agree with me?"

Draco chuckles, blowing softly on a forkful of cottage pie.

"Why, I'm hurt, Hermione. You don't believe I can make proper conversation? I'll have you know that formal events have been my every day life since I was old enough to use silverware : I could make small talk with _Hagrid_ for days on end."

Hermione chokes on her water and has to dab at her lips, praying that she's not spreading her lipstick all over her face.

"Hagrid could talk _on his own_ for days on end", she counters.

"Yes, well. Bad example. But you get the point, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I do", she answers, indignant. "You lied : we aren't here to talk about the case!"

"That's about right."

The jerk, he doesn't even seem embarrassed to be caught red-handed. More like red-tonged or... Lying, anyway. She scowls.

"Why are we here, then?"

He sighs, but keeps smiling. Hermione doesn't know if she has to feel relieved or even more anxious. He pats her hand and she snatches it back.

"You know, for a know-it-all, you're really awfully slow, sometimes."

She waits for him to elaborate, but he turns all of his attention to his cottage pie.

She huffs, feeling frustrated. She chews her duck with a vengeance, drenching it in blackberry sauce and taking a savage satisfaction in spreading the blood-like smears all around her plate.

And no, she's not unbalanced - thank you very much.

"So, have you read "War and Peace"? I just finished it the other day and don't you find Natacha just..."

Hermione looks at him, horrified, as he continues to make _conversation_. He doesn't seem to mind her watching him in silence, opening and closing her mouth like a dying fish.

"I... I need to go to the bathroom", she says, faintly.

He immediatly stands up, and she pauses to wonder why before he signs to a waiter and asks him to take Hermione to the bathroom.

She feels bewildered and incredibly awkward all at once. Suddenly, she knows exactly what she needs. The waiter leads her to a short corridor and stops. She looks behind her shoulder and watches Draco, calmly eating his meal at the other end of the room.

"Miss..." begins the waiter.

"Can I floo someone from here?" she cuts him.

He seems taken aback for a second, but soon regains his neutral expression.

"Follow me, if you please."

She does. She's so desperate that she would leap out of a window if she thought it could help.

The waiter opens a door and leads her to a row of gleaming black fireplaces, each isolated by a couple of wood partitions for privacy. They pass a man on all four, shouting something in a foreign language she believe to be japanese, before the waiter stops again in front of a free fireplace.

"Thanks", says Hermione. "I think I can manage from there."

The waiter gives a curt semi-bow and leaves immediatly. Hermione looks around before kneeling on a soft cushion and grabbing a handful of Floo Powder from an ornate silver pot. She throws the powder into the fireplace, calling out "Potter's House" and sticking her head into the hearth.

She hopes she won't mess up her make up or her hair. It would be a disaster - she can already hear Draco's taunts : "_So, Granger, sorry for your hair : I didn't know they kept a wild tornado in the bathroom or I'd have warned you_."

She ducks her head and sighs.

"Ginny! Giiiiiinnyyyyyy!" she bellows, scrutinizing he slightly green and quite distorted living room of her friends in search of the red-head. "Ginny! Not to be annoying or anything, but it's kind of an _emergency_!"

"Hermione?"

Hermione watches in despair as Harry stumbles into the room, buttoning his shirt - the lazy sod wasn't sleeping at this hour, was he?

"Harry, sorry but I don't really have the time right now. Where is Ginny?"

"She's out."

"What! What is she doing out? She's pregnant like a..." Hermione makes some confusing hands movements. "A huge whale or something. She can't be out - what would she do, go clubbing?"

Harry suddenly looks very tired.

"She's with Rose-Hannah. Talking about baby stuff._ Again_."

His weary voice almost makes her feel better. But then, she remembers that it's not nice to rejoice over somebody else's misery and she feels guilty.

"So, she's not there. But maybe I can help you..."

Hermione grimaces thoughtfully. She's not sure about that one, but... beggars can't be choosers, do they?

"I'm having dinner. With Draco", she explains.

"What, you mean like, right now?"

She wonders if it's a trick question.

"Er... Yeah?"

"Then, what are you doing with your head in a fireplace? Where are you anyway?"

"Oh, in a posh restaurant. And I'm here because I need to talk to Ginny, obviously." She sighs. "Well, you'll do."

Harry huffs and crosses his arms.

"Thanks, I feel so loved."

"Don't be a baby. So... Draco is acting weird. I mean, he invited me so we could talk about the case we're working on but now he says we don't need to discuss it. And he asked me about _books_, and_ music_. He's done weird things for days - he didn't blackmailed me when I vomited on him, he brought me coffee. And flowers. He even made me _muffins_, for Merlin's sake! So, what does it mean?"

Harry blanches.

"I... don't know?"

"What? You could make an effort. I mean, I know that you're well... a _boy_, but can't you at least think about it?"

"A man, he corrects. And you know I don't like to have _girly_ talks. Especially about one of my mates."

"But, Ginny is not there", she whines.

"Yeah, and Draco must be wondering if the toilet's monster finally got you - I'm assuming you told him you were going there, didn't you?"

"Oh, I forgot! I have to go", says Hermione, horrified.

"Bye, Hermione. You can come tomorrow and talk with Ginny all you want about Draco's... muffins or well... anything. When I'll be at work, preferably."

Hermione grumbles and mutters a "bye" before pulling out of the fireplace.

When she goes back to the table, Malfoy is drinking expensive wine, twirling it into his glass to look at its burgundy color. He doesn't seem annoyed. He doesn't comment on her disappearance either, as if he didn't even notice it.

Hermione eats the remains of her cold (but admittedly very tasty) blackberry-apple-duck dish and Draco talks amiably. She doesn't know what to make of it, but if he notices her terse answers, he doesn't show it.

By the time their dessert plates are empty, the whole situation seems completely normal. They're discussing movies, which Hermione had no idea Draco even knew about, and it's like they've been friends for years.

Grudgingly, Hermione has to admit that Ginny was right about the whole "things in common" business.

When Draco takes her home, she's almost disappointed that the evening has to end.

"So, did you have a good time?" he asks as she fishes in her bag for her keys.

"Surprisingly, yes. But I still don't understand." He opens his mouth and she silences him. "Oh, I get that you want us to stop bickering and everything. But, why didn't you just_ say_ so - you didn't have to act weird all of this time. I thought you were going barmy or something."

He shakes his head and smiles. She finally finds her keys and lowers her bag.

"I'll give you one clue."

He holds out one finger. She looks at it, transfixed, then nods, feeling a little silly.

"Okay, so..."

But then, he's kissing her - just a press of his lips against her, a warm slightly dry almost _nothing_.

"You're smart, Granger. You figure it out on your own now."

And then, he's gone.

Hermione stands in front of her door, stunned. She looks at the keys in her hand and sits down on the floor, forgetting about her clean dress.

"What the hell was that?"

* * *

A/N : so, I know I made you wait quite a bit, but it's longer than usual. Yes, it's almost a (dare I say it?) _lengthy_ chapter.

Stop laughing :p

Well, I think there will be two or three more chapters before the end... So, review and I'll try not to make you wait for too long.


	13. Not a kiss

**Not a kiss**

Hermione sneaks a look at Draco from the corner of her eyes. He's working, diligently bending over the last of their paperwork, and strands of his hair are falling in front of his face.

Hermione can't decide if she ought to be more scared about the fact that she noticed he doesn't style his hair anymore or that she actually quite likes it.

It's been four days. Four whole days and more than a handful of hours since the end of their strange colleagues-bordering-on-friends-bordering-on-something-she-really-doesn't-want-to-think-about-right-now-but-does-so-anyway-because-she-really-can't-help-it dinner and even stranger kiss, and the jerk is acting as if absolutely nothing's amiss. She spent an entire night debating with herself about the length of a proper kiss - because it was so short, surely, it didn't _count_ when it was that brief. She ended wide-awake in her bed, torturing herself about the way she would have to act the following morning, and would Ginny be really mad if she flooed right now? After all, she was losing her sanity, over Malfoy of all people and surely Ginny could understand.

She didn't because, really, how ridiculous would it be to panic over a kiss-which-was-not-really-a-kiss-but-more-of-a-lengthy-peck-which-really-didn't-mean-anything given by a man she didn't even like. It would give Ginny all the wrong ideas. So she waited, waited, and waited again for the sun to please rise sometime today, thanks. And then, after a gruesome night she finally got to talk to Ginny who proved herself to be particularly useless regarding Hermione's predicament: she yawned constantly, pretending that it was "too bloody early to think, Hermione", and then, she laughed. She was in near hysterics by the time Hermione was telling her about the kiss, beet red and almost stuttering. Afterwards, she just told her to "figure it out by herself" because it was about time she stopped being "such a bloody idiot - are you blind or what?". After that, she went back to bed.

The nerve of her.

Hermione swore to be most unhelpful the next time Ginny would have an issue of her own, like finding a christmas present for Ron or convincing Harry that no, Hannibal was _not _a cool name for a baby.

At that point, Hermione was still wavering between several possibilities, like finding a time-turner, going back to the previous day and warn herself to shake Malfoy's hand on her doorstep before his poor damaged brain makes him do something they would both sorely regret ; killing herself ; faking sickness until the end of her partnership with Malfoy (spattergroit could last five days, couldn't it? And you could catch it_ anywhere_, really) ; faking death ; faking a terrible potion accident inducing a brutal memory loss.

Finally, she settled for going to work and pretending nothing happened.

It worked so well that at the end of the day, she was wondering about the memory loss: Draco didn't say anything. He greeted her with his usual smirk and coffee and just... well... worked.

For days, they just worked side by side, talking only about the case, except for a disastrous attempt on her part during yesterday's lunch. The weather. They talked about the bloody weather. At least, he had the sense not to laugh at her, but she knew he wanted to.

By the time they were talking about the summer heat, she wanted to kill herself. She excused herself and fled to the lavatory just after she made that comment about the decreasing number of birds.

Yes, just before saying that it wasn't like when she was little.

It was degrading, that's what it was. She almost laughs out loud because it's so ridiculous, really: she spent the last _twelve_ years keeping an eye over Malfoy to prevent him to affect her in every sense of the word and he finally succedeeded, making her go barking mad. With a semi-formal dinner and a _peck_.

Merlin, Ginny is right: she's incredibly stupid. And she doesn't know what to do to make her brain functional again.

She sighs and shuffles the papers on her desk, hoping she looks like she's concentrating. But when she glances Draco's way, pretending to look around the room and not at him, he's still reading some report or other. She tells herself she's not disappointed that he doesn't watch her all the time anymore. It was making her paranoid anyway, so it's a good thing he stopped.

Isn't it?

So now she's here, seated on her nice comfortable chair in front of her well organized desk and she has to review the entire case before tomorrow. Because it's an important case and it could mean getting a promotion or ending her career in one of the small office with no window next to the janitor's closet.

It's the last day. She worked on this case for twenty-nine days and she just have to hold on for five or six more hours.

And she can't concentrate. All she can think about is that it's the last day of their partnership and Draco didn't bloody say _anything_. It doesn't make any sense, and she can't help but hear the voices of Draco and Ginny in her head, telling her to figure it out on her own.

It's slightly creepy, actually.

She knows Ginny would tell her to just go-and-talk-to-him-dammit! But she doesn't know what to say and besides, she doesn't think she's got the nerve to do that. She can already see herself stuttering like an idiot while Draco will be watching her with that amused/bemused look of his which makes him look impossibly younger and at the same time not, because Hermione knows what he looked like when he was younger and that wasn't it at all. He was all pointy and mean looking, with a hint of sickly-ness underneath and a lot of loftiness. Sometimes, she thinks she can still see that teenager - child really - underneath it all : the veneer of war, the growing-up, and the grief of loss even if he never brings it up. But really, after four weeks of perfectly safe coffee, of muffins and strange awkward conversations, she has to admit that it's not the same at all. Somehow, a part of him died and she can't bring herself to be sorry about it because now he's the kind of person who can go to the Potter's parties and work alongside a muggleborn without cringing in disgust.

But then, he had to go and_ kiss_ her, and she doesn't understand anything anymore. She knows she sounds silly, but she really can't figure it out for the life of her. It's not logical at all : Draco is maybe nicer, but he doesn't have anything to gain by kissing her. She's the poor frizzy spinster, remember? Even her_ cat _gets away from her as much as he can.

A hand.

She squeaks and stumbles backward, falling on the floor, nice chair and all.

"Er, Hermione?"

She stalls for a few seconds before looking up, hoping she doesn't look as dumb as she think she does and knowing that dignity is a lost battle for today.

"Yes?" she answers, pretending she's not sprawled on the floor with her left leg wedged under her chair.

That's going to bruise, she thinks grumpily.

"Are you alright?"

Draco is watching her with a puzzled frown but his lips are slightly twitching upwards and she knows he's dying to burst out laughing. But it would be childish and besides, she can't remember ever seeing Draco really laugh - must be forbidden by the Posh Code or something. She pastes a smile on her face and takes the hand he's holding out to her. His skin is warm and she tries hard not to blush when she remembers that it's the first time he's touching her since well... That Night (and yes, she thinks about it with capital letters).

"Yeah. Just peachy", she says, dusting her trousers even if the floor is magically cleaned every morning and she's probably a lot dirtier than it is.

After almost half a minute of dusting, it's obvious that Draco isn't going to just go away so she looks at him, forcing another smile.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asks.

She thinks about sitting down again, but Draco is still standing and he's just so _tall_ - she won't be able to speak properly if he's towering over her like that.

Even from where she's standing, things don't look so good. He's serious again and she can't decide if she's more scared at the idea of him bringing up the kiss or not bringing it up. A little voice in her head is chanting something along the lines of "lastdaylastdaylastday" and somehow she feels as if it's the very last time she gets to talk to him ever. Which is stupid because even if their partnership is ending, they'll still work into the same building, on the same floor, and Harry and Ginny will still invite him over from time to time.

But, for some silly reason, she feels like it just _won't be the same_ and she suddenly wishes things wouldn't change - that they could just go on working together into the nice two desks office forever.

But more than anything, she wishes he wouldn't look at her with such intensity, because it makes her feel like an amoeba under a microscope and she's going to tell him as much when he finally opens his mouth.

"I was just wondering if everything was alright", he says easily. "You've been sort of tense for the past few days."

"Have I?" she asks with a nervous chuckle.

"Yes."

She swallows a sigh. He isn't going to make this easier for her, is he?

"Well, the final line's jitters, you know. We've worked so hard on that case... I guess I'm a little stressed."

He's still watching her intently, not smiling anymore.

"Arent' you?" she asks, hoping he'll stop looking so glum - it doesn't suit him at all.

"I guess", he says after a pause.

"Was it all you wanted?"

She smiles, relieved and _not_ at the same time. She glances at her watch and at the file on her desk - if she gets on with it now, she still has the time to review it entirely before tomorrow's meeting.

"Was it?" he says, his voice low.

Hermione blinks and widen her smile in discomfort.

"Well, I wouldn't know : after all, it's in your head, not in mine", she says, doing her best to keep her tone light.

"Yeah, it is." He seems contemplative, like it has never occurred to him before.

Then he smiles, and it looks forced. Maybe because Malfoys aren't supposed to smile, just to smirk, chuckle, and generally take the mickey out of everyone. But she saw him smile before and it never made her stomach churns the way it does right now. Probably because it's their last day and even if it's really nothing, it smells like the end of... well... something.

"So. Last day, today", he observes.

He's scrutinizing her again and she wonders if he can hear her thoughts. She hopes not, because she's not proud of all of them, and it's the third time this week that she notices he looks unfairly nice in a suit. She nods.

"And everything's alright?" he asks again. "Nothing you'd like to discuss?"

Hermione frowns.

"No, I think we're ready. I mean, you said my strategy was good, and I agree with you about the rest."

She feels a little embarrassed to bring up something he said to her during their dinner, but his face betrays nothing. She doubts he even remembers telling her her proposition was fine.

She suddenly blanches.

"You... you didn't change your mind, did you?"

"What?"

"You still think my half of the work is fine?"

"No, he says, deadpan. I woke up hating it this morning and I was wondering if you could start over for tomorrow."

He raises an eyebrow and she's ridiculously pleased to see him making fun of her. It sounds normal. Familiar. Like home, in a weird and slightly masochistic way.

"Then what? Is there something we need to discuss before tomorrow?" she asks, a little wary, now.

He smiles again, and Hermione thinks it almost looks painful. She tries to smile too, but it only makes it worse.

"Apparently not", he answers, and there is a sharp edge to his voice which sounds like bitterness.

Hermione hates it, but she doesn't want to understand either, so she says "good" and goes back to work.

That night, she can't sleep and she tells herself it's because Mr Peterson and the council will judge her work tomorrow.

A little voice tells her she's lying to herself, so she closes her eyes and does her best not to see things in grey. It's a confusing color anyway.

***

Twenty-four hours later, Hermione, feeling thoroughly depressed and nursing a cup of hot chocolate with a bowl of coffee, vanilla _and_ chocolate ice-cream suddenly realizes that she just made the worse mistake of her entire life.

And that it has nothing to do with Mr Peterson.

* * *

A/N : so, this is the penultimate chapter (god, even in english that word sounds posh^^). The last one should come sometimes next week, now that I have internet again.

Like usual, thanks for the reviews and feel free (obligated) to comment this chapter. Ta!


	14. Stupidity

**Stupidity**

"You really are stupid."

Hermione nods, looking at the broken toy in her hand. Can't she do anything right anymore?

"Yeah, I know."

"You should just... Wait what?"

Ginny turns around as fast as her belly allows it - it's so big these days, that Hermione thinks it looks like some alien entity is clinging to her waist. But Ginny swears there is only one baby inside of it.

Hermione sometimes thinks Harry has done one transfiguration too many and that it's really a baby elephant in there, but she has never voiced that particular hypothesis of hers.

Ginny would murder her. With spoons and a lot of blood involved.

"It's just a music box, there is no need to beat yourself up over it."

She suddenly takes in Hermione's depressed face.

"Oh", she says. "It's Draco again, isn't it?"

"How dNo. No", Hermione denies, horrified.

"Oh yes, it is."

"Not at all!"

Ginny snorts, setting down the ruined toy - these days, every charm coming from Hermione's wand is a disaster.

"You almost said : "How did you know?""

Hermione opens her mouth to protest before closing it again : she knows a lost cause when she sees one.

"Okay, fine. I did."

"Right."

Ginny nods smugly. Hermione buries her face in her hands, feeling so utterly pathetic she wouldn't be surprised to die of it.

"So... have something to tell me, haven't you?"

"Well..."

Hermione hesitates. It's all very embarrassing and she would really have rather kept the entire thing between her and Crookshanks. But Ginny's gleeful face leaves her no hope : it's too late, now. If she doesn't cave, her traitorous so-called best friend will pester her to death and it will inevitably end in a devastingly humiliating way. And humiliation knows no boundaries when it comes to Hermione Granger.

"Spill!" Ginny commands.

"Okay", says Hermione, taking a deep breath. "Okay, so I made a horrible mistake."

"Finally, mutters Ginny. I never thought I'd see the day. Go on, say it", she adds impatiently.

Hermione presses her lips together and looks at her feet. Is her third toe longer than the second? She looks at her left foot for confirmation.

Merlin, it is! Her feet are hideously deformed and she never noticed before!

"Hermione..."

"I like him", blurts Hermione. "Are you happy? I'm stupid and lonely and I let him seduce me with... with blueberry muffins! And argh! I'm _so_ stupid!"

Ginny winces. Whatever Draco did to her friend, she hopes he can fix it - she doesn't think she can handle a stupid whiny Hermione for much longer.

"And?" she asks after a silence.

"Well, nothing : I have a crush on him." Hermione scrunches her face in distaste. "And you have the right to call me stupid one more time because I really deserve it for falling for someone like him", she adds as an afterthought.

"Wait, that's it ? You're sorry because you fell in love with Draco?"

"In like", Hermione corrects, feeling herself flush.

Somehow, Ginny's incredulous face makes her confession sounds like a horrible mistake.

"You _did _know how I feel beforehand, didn't you?" she asks, a little apprehensive, now.

"Yeah, I bloody knew it, says Ginny. But that's not what I was talking about - I mean, how is liking him a mistake?"

Hermione stiffens and glances at her watch, hurriedly, already listing every available excuse to take her leave. Now. She stands up, shuffling a little to try and not crush the numerous baby stuffs littering the floor.

"Oh no, you don't", says Ginny, yanking her by her sleeve to make her sit down again.

"But..."

"No buts, I want to know_ everything_. You're driving me up the wall with your long face, and it's not good for the baby : we're going to fix it right now." Hermione opens her mouth and Ginny lifts one hand. "And I don't care if you have to die of embarrassment in the process: I wouldn't have to make you talk about it if you weren't so hopeless in the first place. Understood?"

Hermione thinks she's quite intimidating for a small currently fat girl dressed with what looks like a dust bag with pink butterflies on it. But she refrains from mentioning it because Ginny spent entirely too much time with Alastor Moody as a child.

So she just nods meekly and settles back down. Then she waits and fiddles with a weird looking plushy until Ginny elbows her in the ribs. It hurts.

"I want details. And don't make me hurt you", Ginny threatens.

Hermione has nothing to say, really. Because she thought entirely too much about coffee and muffins and the-thing-which-was-not-a-kiss, and that she overlooked _who_ was Draco in reality.

He looked so very frustrated and angry when she said goodbye to him after their presentation that she thought that maybe... But it was probably just exhaustion, and nine days later, he was going out with Ingrid, from the accounts department. What did she expect? She can't believe she let herself forget that Draco _is_ Malfoy, not some kind of angelic twin of his.

Hermione tells Ginny as much.

Then Ginny laughs. Hermione briefly wonders how comes her confessions always get this reaction. Somehow, she feels like she should be offended by it.

"What? asks Ginny, disbelief written all over her face. That's all? Tell me, you weren't expecting him to wait for you ad vitam eternam, were you?"

"It's only been nineteen days, Hermione argues. I hardly consider that eternity!"

Then she realizes it sounded as if she'd been counting. Which she hadn't. She just has a good memory for numbers is all.

"You have to stop reading so much romance novels. Seriously. I mean, you basically told him that you weren't interested. So, he's moving on. Draco is not a girl, you know - he has..." Ginny waves her hand in a careless manner. "Needs and whatnot."

Hermione winces at the thought. Needs... fulfilled by Miss Comptability. Ginny snorts.

"What? Did you expect him to stay at home sulking in his bed and crying while stuffing his face with ice-cream? Oh, wait - so silly of me : that's _you_, not Draco."

Hermione narrows her eyes. She's _not_ amused. And she didn't cry, dammit!

Well, maybe once or twice.

The third time doesn't count - there was this awfully sad song at the radio and... Well, it would have made Bellatrix Lestrange cry, so it had nothing to do with a Draco-induced depression.

Ginny lifts a finger, preventing any protest.

"I don't want to hear your excuses. You two are... Listen." She takes Hermione's hands in hers but her death-grip is not really comforting. "Draco _loves _you. I promised not to tell, but you are really too painful to watch. I mean, did you really think that you and him working in the same building, on the same _floor_, was a coincidence?"

Hermione shrugs.

"Bad luck, you know..." She feels uncomfortable saying it, because she doesn't believe it anymore and they both know it : she likes Draco now, a lot too much from the look of things.

"It's not luck, Hermione. Do you follow my drift?"

Hermione doesn't, until all of a sudden, she does, and it doesn't make sense at all.

"Wait... You mean that our project together was some kind of setup?"

Ginny shakes her head and rubs her nose with the palm of her hand. Hermione is fairly sure it means that she's frustrated, but right now she'd rather annoy a very pregnant Ginny than to go back home where she knows she'll agonize over all this for the rest of the day. And probably all night too.

"Okay. I see. I'm going to spell it out for you. Draco has fancied you for who knows how long. And well he was getting quite desperate - I mean, I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but nobody thought you could be that... oblivious."

The pause hints that "oblivious" was not the word she really had in mind, but Hermione doesn't care. _Nobody_? Were they all in on this?

"Yes", Ginny says.

"What?"

"We were all aware of his feelings. I mean, he hasn't exactly been discreet about it."

Hermione thinks about that day, two months ago, in the elevator.

_Looking good today, Granger._

Merlin, how stupid could she be?

"So, let's say that you seeing each other a lot more wasn't exactly a... coincidence."

She cheerfully gets up.

"So, now that we cleared this up, you just pay him a visit and settle the matter. I'm calling dibs on maid of honor _and_ godmother of your first child because you would never have made it without me. Now go!"

She smiles hopefully. Hermione sometimes thinks that getting The Boy Who Lived made lasting damage on Ginny, like making her believe that everything in life is so easy.

"What if there's a girl with him?"

Ginny sighs and lets her happy-go-lucky contenance drop.

"Send him an owl to warn him before coming? Give him twenty minutes - he should have the time to dismiss the girl and put his clothes back on."

Hermione wonders if Ginny is doing it on purpose or if the wrong words come naturally to her. She wouldn't be surprised either way.

"You're aware that invitation cards don't count if you send them yourself."

Ginny throws her hands over her head.

"Then, ask him out. Are you that hopeless?"

"No, and yes."

"Why not? He asked you out before - you had dinner last month : you just have to say that you're returning the favor."

"It was between colleagues, to discuss a project. We're not working together anymore", Hermione protests.

She huffs as Ginny doesn't even bother to hide her sniggers.

"Only in your head, deary. It was a date through and through and it would really do you good to admit it once and for all. You doubt so much of well everything that I'm surprised you still can sleep at night. How your brain doesn't just fry is a mystery."

"Maybe it did - that would explain so much", Hermione says between her teeth. "So, what do I do?"

Ginny pats her on the back and shakes her head.

"You're both utterly pathetic, you know."

"Draco too?" Hermione asks, hopeful.

"Yeah. I mean, he planned the whole "seducing you" business like it was some kind of evil mater plan, and in the end, not only didn't he get you, but he didn't even succeed in making his point across. He could just have told you, but noooo, Mr Malfoy had to make it all difficult and complicated because of some kind of pride issue."

Hermione has to agree whole-heartedly at that. It's all his fault anyway for being so damn confusing._ Her_ pride is not an issue - it was brutally murdered a long time ago. Right now, she's just trying not to drown in melted ice-cream in her sleep.

"Obviously, he overestimated your intelligence."

Hermione doesn't agree anymore.

"I don't get it, Hermione. How can you have such a brilliant mind and be so idiotic when it comes to relationships? I mean, it's no big deal..."

Hermione gets up, indignant. Ginny doesn't know anything about relationships : she's been in love with the same person since she was like nine. Then she just sat down and waited while he was planning the whole "Killing Voldemort" thingy. After that, all she had to do was to chose her bridesmaids dresses. How pathetic is _that_?

"No big deal? she screeches, refraining from grabbing her pregnant friend by her shoulders to shake her. Violently. "Ginny, I am a spinster : I'm twenty-three and I never had a proper boyfriend before. I'm twenty-three! I mean, I'm desperate : in two years, I'll probably be begging Goyle to marry me!"

Ginny nods, patting her knees confortingly (and patronizingly, Hermione thinks, but she has no proof and she needs the comfort, so she keeps her mouth shut).

"You better go see Malfoy now, then."

Hermione agrees and stands up determinedly before sitting down again. Ginny sighs loudly.

"What is it _again_?"

Hermione takes one of the new Potter-to-be's plushies and hugs it to her chest. Ginny looks at her, warily.

"What if he doesn't like me anymore?"

Ginny buries her face in her hands and tries hard not to break down.

***

It's a dreadful idea.

After debating over it for what felt like hours (and actually, maybe it was ), Hermione grudgingly admitted that going to see Malfoy in his office wouldn't be so bad. After all, as promiscuous as he was, he wasn't stupid enough to have it off with one of his girlfriends at work. And well... Hermione privately thought that if she chickened out, she could always think of a work-related excuse for disturbing him.

She nods to herself, smiling nervously at a girl whose name she can't remember.

Merlin, this corridor never seemed that long before. But then again, Hermione never felt like she was walking to her death while trekking over it before either.

His door is closed. She stops before it, thinking that maybe her luck finally came back and made Malfoy go somewhere else for the day. Or the week. She isn't picky.

She takes a step back, having half a mind to just come back to her office and floo Ginny in the evening to tell her that her conversation with Draco just wasn't meant to be. But then she would be a coward and she's a Gryffindor, so she raises her hand. She briefly presses her other hand against her stomach - it's making somersaults, and it's like OWLS all over again. You know, that feeling that you're doing what you have to do, but you'd really rather not be doing it. She lightly raps at the door and forces herself to breathe.

What's the worse that could happen, anyway?

She winces - okay, so that's not a good line of thinking right now. No answer. She heaves a sigh of relief and lowers her hand, already finding reasons why she couldn't go back here before... hm... Sunday?

Oh, no, they don't work on sunday. How silly of her...

Feeling incredibly relieved, she turns on her heels and-

"Come in!"

She freezes.

"I said : come in!"

Impatience has crept into the voice - Draco's voice - and Hermione knows that if she doesn't get in now, she'll never dare to come back. She takes a deep breath, almost chokes on it, and opens the door.

He's there, working at his desk. He glances up when she comes in and a startled look crosses his face before it's completely blank again. Hermione smothers the need to shuffle with unease at his stare.

To say that he doesn't seem pleased to see her would be the understatement of the century.

"Granger", he says. "What's bringing you here? Whatever happened to you, I swear it wasn't me", he immediatly adds.

The worse is that he seems to be only half-joking and somehow, Hermione understands where he's coming from.

Merlin, she's been such an idiotic _hag_!

She really can't blame him for not liking her anymore. It's a wonder he did in the first place. And she was stupid enough to ruin it.

She strangles the want to sit down and cry in misery and bestows a very unconvincing smile on him.

"Malfoy", she says in her friendlier tone.

Calling him by his surname feels wrong, but she doesn't dare say his name. All of a sudden, she feels really small and intimidated - like a student in front of a teacher's desk. And it's a slap in the face to realize that she forgot just how much he used to scare her before.

She wonders if she should sit down, but he clearly doesn't want her to drag this out longer than necessary - there is a barely veiled hostility in his body language which doesn't bode well for her "coming in peace" expedition.

"So, what do you want?"

Malfoy narrows his eyes until they are nothing but steely slits. Hermione gulps, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She can begin their soon-to-be civil conversation with anything. Except for Ginny, of course, which she promised not to mention.

"I talked to Ginny", she blurts.

Malfoy's eyes widen momentarily and she resists the impulse to slap her own forehead.

"Oh. Did you now?"

Is that nervosity in his voice? Hermione suddenly feels gleeful. No more of this Pathetic Hermione nonsense - if she plays her cards right, she can leave this room with a date _and _her newly resurrected pride all in one piece.

Maybe. If she doesn't die of nerves before.

"Yes", she says, stalling.

"Sit down", he suddenly says, pointing to the chair in front of him. She doesn't even think about protesting before nodding obediently and complying.

He lets her fidget for a good forty seconds before lifting an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth quirking slightly.

"And?"

Hermione's mind never felt so utterly blank before. Her mind scrambles for something relevant to say, but finally settles on opening her mouth and hoping for the best.

"She said you fancied me."

Darn. She did it again, didn't she? Draco blinks, taken aback by her bluntness. She almost apologizes but decides to keep her mouth shut - she already knows she'll make things worse if she tries to speak again.

"That little..."

Draco violently massages his wrists, his face contorted in an expression she hasn't seen on his face since the war. So bitter and angry... At that very second, he almost reminds her of Snape. She shudders.

"And? Did you come to rub it in my face? Because I think your answer to my... _feelings_ was clear enough."

"What answer?" Hermione asks, before she can remember to just-shut-up-Hermione-before-he-hexes-you.

Suddenly, he doesn't seem so mad anymore. More like appraising, and Hermione tenses under his scrutiny.

"Why are you here?" he asks again.

"Ginny said we have to settle this", she says, not caring that she's using her friend as some kind of aliby.

Some Gryffindor, she is.

Draco raps his knuckles on the table, looking bemused. There's something in his eyes that she knows she can't trust, but she's too busy being relieved to be really worried.

"Settle what?"

"She thinks I hurt your feelings and that you like me, but I don't believe her and I really didn't want to talk to you about it. But then, she said that if she heard me say your name just one more time I would never get to see my godson and that would be awful because you see, I will never have children since apparently, you liked me and I didn't even notice. So now, you're with what's-her-name from comptability and I have to apologize to you or something so Ginny won't be mad at me anymore. It's either that or dying all alone with my cat. Please?"

Oh...

Hermione clamps her mouth shut. That. Was. A. Disaster.

Humiliation, fancy seeing you here...

Hermione eyes the window, wondering if she can jump before Draco recovers from her psychotic blabbling.

"Wait. You didn't know?" he asks after a very awkward pause. "You... You didn't know?" he repeats, radiating disbelief.

"Er... What?"

"You didn't even get that I fancied you? I mean, do you have any idea how hard it was to convince Peterson to make us work together?"

Uh?

"And to get that fucking job in the first place."

He's gesticulating madly, now, and Hermione thinks she never saw him move that much before, not even when Quidditch was involved. For some reason, she's quite pleased with herself.

"I didn't even have the good NEWTS for it - I had to make friends with _Potter _of all people to get it. And it has been a bloody nightmare : he made me come to all the games of Puddlemere United. Did you know their mascot is a badger? A badger, for Salazar's sake - he practically made me cheer for_ Hufflepuff_! And you didn't know I fancied you? Are you blind and deaf?"

Hermione just nods dumbly, before shaking her head. Ginny was right : Draco was awfully complicated. She couldn't help but feel a surge of hot pleasure at the thought all of everything he did, seemingly just to go out with her.

"I don't get it", she says after a silence. "If you liked me, why didn't you just... I don't know... give me flowers and ask me out?"

He gives her an exasperated look.

"I did", he answers, wryly.

She opens her mouth to protest and closes it again, because he's right, he did.

"But you said it was for work, and that the flowers were customary."

He rakes his fingers through his hair and sighs.

"Well of course I said that. It would have send you running if I had told you I was courting you.

_Courting._

"Besides, I kissed you - to be more straightforward, I would have needed a bed."

She lets her head fall against his desk with a tud.

"Oh God, I can't believe I let you go."

A nanosecond later, she just couldn't believe she just said that. She's never lifting her head from this desk. Never. Not now that Embarrassment has joined Humiliation to follow her _everywhere_.

"Wait... Do you mean that you're interested, now?"

Hermione forgets her embarrassment and looks at him.

"Are you joking? Of course I'm interested! You've been nice, you gave me coffee, you took this bloody job to get closer to me and you _read_."

Draco blinks, flabbergasted.

"So, that's it? You want me?"

Hermione nods with a tentative smile. It's too easy - there must be something horribly wrong somewhere.

"Yeah..."

She lets it hang in the air, hoping he will take over and right the whole situation, but he goes on watching her in silence even if he doesn't seem mad or nervous anymore. Actually, there is a slight smirk on his lips and she's fairly sure he's making fun of her. It's wonderfully familiar.

"Are you... are you going to break up with Ingrid, then?" she asks, not liking the way her voice wavered on the woman's name.

Draco sniffs.

"It's a little late for that, I..."

Hermione feels all the blood drains from her face. Too late?

"A little late?" she cuts him. "Don't tell me: she's pregnant? You got drunk and you married her yesterday at Las Vegas? No?" She shakes her head. "You don't like frizzy spinsters anymore, do you? I _knew_ it." He opens his mouth, but Hermione cuts him off, waving her hands widly. "It's not your fault, really :my bad luck is so impressive that I think I'm probably cursed. I should go have that checked in St Mungo's or..."

" Hermione!"

She is blabbling again, isn't she? She sends him what she hopes is an apologetic look.

"I was just going to say that I don't see her anymore - our dinner was a disaster. And I still like freezy spinster", he adds after a pause. "I'm sorry, I should know that one's have to be more to the point when talking to you - it won't happen again", he says with a chuckle.

Hermion wonders if he's implying that she's kind of thick. But it doesn't really matter right now.

"So what are we going to do now?" she asks, frowning.

He takes her hand in his and grins.

"I like you and you like me, okay? So, now, we're going out. Is it straightforward enough for you or should I kiss you just to make sure?"

She feels a small smile tugging at her lips. And oh how he will pay for belittling her. But later - vengeance is only effective when the other person doesn't expect it anymore.

"I think I get it, now. You should kiss me, though, just to make sure."

And this time it's a real kiss with no ambiguity, and afterwards she just keeps her mouth shut. It wouldn't do to spoil the moment.

"And I promise that when I'll ask you to marry me, I'll do it in writing and in triplicate", he says after kissing the tip of her nose.

She smiles blissfully.

The jerk would eat his words - but, not before the third date or so. She wouldn't want to scare him. Yet.

XXX

Two years later, Ginny buys her a very ugly shapeless dress with purple roses and sickly green ribbons. Ron calls her Fatty and Draco makes fun of her mood-swings.

It's perfect.

Because she's not awkward, she's not bushy-haired, she's not a teenager, and she's certainly not a spinster anymore.

And everything is fine, even if she still rummages through Draco's stuffs from time to time, and sometimes drops by at his office without warning just to make sure. Anyway, Draco tells anyone who'll listen that her paranoia is her more endearing trait - he claims he married her because he likes to laugh at her and that she would not be half as amusing without it.

Harry says they're both mad. And maybe they are, but now mornings smell less like melted ice-cream and more like happiness and Hermione wouldn't have it any other way.

The end

* * *

A/N : Useless blabbling - feel free not to read XD

Merlin, that was the longest chapter I've ever wrote. So, this is the end... I hope you aren't disappointed with the way it turned out. ^^

Anyway, writting this has been a pleasure (and a wonderful distraction during boring presentations) and I'm very grateful for every review I got. I actually learned quite a lot from the whole thing (who knew you had to write "What?" and not "What ?" - well, I didn't ^^'). Obviously I am a better writer in french, but I think I actually managed to improve my english a little through this (which promotes fanfiction-writing to the rank of "useful hobby").

So thanks for reading this, thanks a lot for reviewing and until the next story...

Saralynfara


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